Red
by blueenvelopes
Summary: The young Senate candidate from Naboo is not all he seems and neither is the redheaded beauty he meets on a night on the town in Coruscant. Girl meets Sith, the Darth Sidious version. Because before the dark times, before the Empire, the Sith walked freely among us in disguise. And one young promising Apprentice finds out the hard way how controlling his Master can be. Very AU.
1. Chapter 1

The random guys who come alone are always creepy. The guys who come in after work with buddies or in a group for a bachelor party or a guys' weekend on the town in Coruscant are all usually ok. And the regulars who show up on payday or every Saturday night are really sweet and polite. Those guys learn the girls' names and tip well.

But guys like this one? Well, they are creepy.

In fact, this one might be extra creepy.

Cresta is working the pole on the far lefthand side of the club waiting for her turn on the main stage. Frieda is up there now doing her Hutt slave girl routine wrapping a chain around her neck. Cresta has seen this shtick dozens of times before and tonight it's just as cheesy. But the customers love it. Put a girl in a metal bikini and a slave collar and men go wild. Frieda is getting a great haul of credit cards tossed to her feet and stuffed in her metal thong.

Cresta can't help it, she's jealous. She could use all that cash. And Frieda is just gonna blow it all on spice.

The creepy guy is still staring at her as he smokes. Cresta flashes him her best smile and pulls a lock of long red hair over her shoulder to stroke it suggestively. He doesn't react. He just keeps staring as he blows smoke rings. Normally, she would turn her attention to another customer but there's no one else over here. All the other guys have moved closer to watch Frieda, taking their credits with them. So Cresta just has the creepy, angry looking dude to dance for.

She takes covert peeks at him between hair flips and back bends. He's seated at a table under an overhead light that illuminates his face but shrouds the rest of him in darkness. He's very pasty pale. And that's fitting. Creepy guys are always pale. His beady eyes look pale too-she's not sure if they are blue or grey or green. His hair looks auburn, and normally that would be a point in his favor, but he has a high patrician forehead and his hair is combed back from his receding hairline. Overall, he's not bad looking. But he is sort of old looking and that is a strange mix with his obvious youthfulness. Who looks distinguished at 25 or 30 or whatever age he is? Yeah, with that memorable face he's definitely creepy.

And though he's been staring at Cresta for half an hour now, he hasn't tossed a single credit her way. Cheap and creepy, she thinks. What a shitty combo.

This kind of dancing is mindless. Not like the complicated choreography and constant adjustment required to maintain the correct spacing and unison for the corps. Here Cresta mostly grinds and sways and dips. This job would actually be a good way to ease her sore muscles from today's rehearsal if it weren't for the five inch stilettos sandals she wears. This pair in particular hurts. But aching feet are nothing new to Cresta who has been en pointe since she was twelve.

Okay, time to twerk a bit. Maybe this guy is just waiting to see some ass before he opens his wallet. For sure he's not here to ogle her chest because Cresta isn't fleshy up top. And since many of the other girls here are enhanced, she looks especially flat chested by comparison. Yeah, Cresta knows she doesn't have a typical stripper's body. But this club caters to all customers and there are a variety of types of human girls. From blondes to brunettes, from pale skin to glossy dark, from curvy jiggly flesh to athletic builds, there is a girl here for every guy. That must be it-she's not be the cheap, creepy guy's type.

Her song set is over and another girl sashays forward to take Cresta's place at the poll. This time Cresta doesn't mind walking offstage since no one is paying her to dance. Fuck that cheap, creepy guy for wasting her time.

As soon as she is backstage, Cresta steps out of her heels and starts flexing her arch. The corps balletmaster is right that heels ruin a dancer's feet and mess with your turnout. But a gal's got to make a living somehow. And a few hours dancing here a few days a week keeps her dancing for real. When Simon had been alive, he made sure that the boss scheduled Cresta for the prime late night weekend shifts that pay the most. But Simon is long dead and those days are over. And now Cresta has had to pick up work on the side to keep up her cash flow.

And that's why Potter is heading her direction, she thinks. He has a 'special customer' for her. It's not her favorite thing to do, but since she netted zero from that pole dance she needs to make some cash tonight one way or another.

"Room Three," is all her boss says when he walks up to her. The man isn't much for words.

Room Three it is, Cresta thinks, as she jams back on her sandals and tugs at her fishnets to straighten the back seams. She's wearing the stockings with a matching black thong and skintight black t-shirt. She's a dancer, so black is her thing. Plus, it's a good background to make her red hair pop.

Taking a deep breath, Cresta knocks fast and then sails into Room Three. You have to approach these things with confidence. But, oh, fuck! It's the cheap, creepy guy. Gods, damn it! Tonight just isn't her night.

Up close, he looks better. Younger too. He's can't be more than thirty. She can see now that he's wearing some sort of caped black tunic and slacks tucked into boots. The clothes and boots look expensive even in this dim light, and that's a good sign. Perhaps he'll tip well for this.

Creepy guy is looking her up and down now too in a slow inspection. "Turn around," he requests.

Cresta ignores him. "Did he explain about me?" she asks. When creepy guy looks at her blankly, Cresta repeats herself. "The manager guy who led you in here—did he explain?" Potter always forgets to tell the customers about her limitations, and in the past that has led to some awkward shit. So Cresta has learned to ask this question up front.

"Explain what?" Creepy guy raises an eyebrow expectantly.

"That I won't fuck you. I'll blow you but I won't fuck you." Well, at least that is out in the open. She's half expecting him to get up and walk out—most guys do—but instead he just leans forward in his chair to look at her.

"Is that because this is our first date?" he asks with a wicked grin.

"Cute," Cresta can't help but smile back. This guy is kind of impish. Okay, maybe he's not so creepy. "Very cute. And no. It's because I don't fuck for money." Cresta lets this sink in a moment before adding, "But there are plenty of girls here who will, so they can take care of you if that's what you're into."

Now he sits back and crosses his arms. If he's annoyed by this information, he's not showing it. He looks . . . nonplussed. He cocks his head and counters, "What if I double your money?"

Cresta looks him over. He's good for the money, she thinks. That suit he has on looks like it costs a bundle. And, well, he has an air about him that just says credits. But no, she promised herself she wouldn't do that. And yeah, she's broke. But she's not desperate. Not yet.

"Thanks for the offer. That's generous of you. But it's not for sale."

Again, he raises an eyebrow. "Everything is for sale."

"Not that."

Now he has both his arms and his legs crossed and he's looking up at her amused. "Of all the whores in this town, I have to pick the one with standards."

Cresta pulls a face. Whore is not how she likes to be described, but she'll let it slide. She's only going to have to do this a few more weeks and then she'll get her renewed contract for the next season with more productions and performances, and she'll be done with this business. Life will be strictly legit from then on.

But until then, she is behind on her rent money. So . . . "Well, what will it be? Are we going to do this or should I get you another girl?"

"Are you always this romantic?" He's mocking her now. But it's not mean, it's more like flirting.

"Once we agree on the business, you'll get the romance," she says dryly. That's how it always is. This guy has not spent much time in the Coruscant clubs, she sees. And really, that speaks well of him.

"You're spoiling the illusion," he tells her and then pats his knee. "Come sit down. Talk to me."

Enough of this banter. Cresta looks at him impatiently. "I have to go on in ten minutes, you know." Dancing pays good money on Friday nights and she doesn't want to miss her mainstage cue.

"Ten minutes?" He's grinning ear to ear now. "Well, in that case, I wouldn't have time to fuck you."

She can't contain her sarcasm. "You last that long, eh?" Cresta rolls her eyes. "Let me guess, you've got a great big dick too, right?"

Predictably, he is smug. "You don't know what you're missing. What's your name, Red?"

"Crystal."

"Don't lie to me."

How the fuck did he know that?

"I don't like to be lied to," he warns her and now his tone is weirdly serious. Like 'how dare you lie to me' serious.

Yeah, this one is not just smug, but he's pompous too. Nice combo. Cresta thinks creepy guy is not just wasting her time, but now he's getting really annoying. "That's a new one," she informs him with a sideways glance. "Most guys who come in here want us girls to lie to them. To tell them they are good looking, tell them how much we want them. One guy even asked me to tell him I loved him."

He ignores this and asks again, "So what's your name, Red?"

"Crystal," she snaps back.

He just nods coolly and looks her over thoughtfully. Of all things, he's looking at her feet now. And, well, if he's a foot fetish guy, she's definitely not the girl for him. The tips of each of her toes has a callous worn smooth from over a decade en pointe. And since she doesn't like people messing with her feet, Cresta is not into pedicures.

And now she's feeling defensive and impatient with creepy guy. "Oookay. So are we doing this? I've got five minutes now, not ten. So if you want your credits' worth, you need to decide. Yes or no?"

He pauses, then decides. "No."

"Fine." Cresta turns on heel and marches out. She throws her words over her shoulder with a toss of her head and flip of her hair. "Suit yourself."

* * *

He sees the hair before he sees her. For his eye is drawn to the vivid red hue. This time, her hair is scraped back severely from her pale face and piled high on her head. She's walking towards him on the busy esplanade with head down and brow furrowed. Even from twenty meters away, he can see that the stripper girl is upset.

Sheev stares as she approaches. His Muun Master is saying something, but Sheev has stopped listening.

Yes, it's definitely her. The hair is unmistakable as is the loping stride. This time her face is bare of all those dark cosmetics he remembers. Her left arm hoists a bag over her shoulder but her right arm reaches up to snatch at hair pins. After a few well-placed plucks, the topknot she wears unwinds and all that glorious hair tumbles down about her shoulders almost to her waist. It is a striking contrast to the black of her oversized jacket.

Yes, it's definitely her. No one has hair like that. It spills everywhere and bounces with her step.

As she comes closer, he can see that she's wearing the jacket over a dancer's traditional uniform of a black leotard and flesh toned tights. It's an incongruous, purely functional outfit completed with heavy looking flat black boots.

Not once does the stripper girl look up before she hurries past. He whirls to watch her retreating form. A long pink satin ribbon trails out from the bulky bag that bounces on her back. 'CORUSCANT BALLET—Corps de Ballet' he reads the bold logo easily. He stands there and watches the girl until her small, lithe form melts into the crowd.

All Sheev can think is that he was right. That the stripper girl was not what she had seemed.

He flushes suddenly, realizing that his Sith Master has stopped speaking while he observed the entire episode. And sure enough, at his side, his Master chuckles knowingly, "The carpet will not match the drapes on that one."

For some reason, this observation annoys him. Sheev fights the urge to shoot the Muun a glare.

But his Master must see that he has gotten under his skin, for now Hego Damask is enjoying his critique of the girl. "And she is far too lean. Skinny women are so unappealing."

Again, Sheev bites his tongue. Maybe the old Muun likes to lay that aging, fat Twi'lek he keeps around now and then, but Sheev has higher standards of beauty.

And this girl is beautiful. With a classic oval face, high cheekbones and a wide mouth. And an elegant, strong body and perfect posture that is completely out of place in a strip joint. Yes, he knew that something was off about this girl. That there was more to her story than met the eye. He's intrigued.

But he won't think about her now. It's back to the business at hand. After ten long years of training on and off, finally his Master will permit him to emerge and to take his rightful place in public life. Sheev has begun in earnest his march to power. The time for training is over, the time for plotting and planning is at hand.

Hours later, he and his Master have completed six meetings with high dollar donors known to be interested in the upcoming Naboo Senate campaign. The money isn't really the goal. It's more important to receive their backing. But the money comes with it and that's money that won't be going into his opponent's campaign war chest. So far, everything is falling into place for the upcoming election.

After a quick stop back at the Muun's Coruscant pied-a-terre, the two men are back in a speeder zipping through the crowded main Uscru entertainment district.

"Where are we going?" he asks as the speeder lands in front of a large theatre. There is a crowd milling around and a line at the box office.

"To the ballet." The Muun looks amused as he leans over to hand him a ticket. "Go sit through the first act and then we are leaving. We have more business to attend to."

Sheev is still not sure what the Muun is up to, but he'll play along. He has to, for he is the Apprentice. So dutifully, he takes his seat and waits. He doesn't have to wait long.

Yes, that's her. The second from the left in the back row. Even without seeing the tight bun of bright red hair, Sheev would recognize those legs anywhere. And, damn, it is bizarre to see the woman he watched twerking in a thong last night to a raunchy Corellian rap tune now dressed in a fluffy tutu leaping in unison with the surrounding bevy of swans or flowers or whatever this group of dancers are supposed to represent.

He sits back to watch. Sheev Palpatine is no connoisseur of dance, but he thinks her beautiful. And by far, the best of the bunch. Certainly, she has the most shapely legs, if that counts for anything. He busies himself imagining those legs wrapped around him during the boring bits. And ballet has lots of boring bits, just like he remembers. He's a Naboo, so he was raised on art and culture. But he's more into opera than ballet.

The program lists twenty-four names in the Corps de Ballet and, predictably, none of them are named Crystal. But one is named Cresta. Cresta Cole.

Yes, the Sith smiles in satisfaction, he's found his girl.

When he emerges at intermission, his Master is still standing in the lobby where Sheev had left him. The Muun is finishing up a com call with one of his business heads at Damask Holdings. He shuts off the com and turns at Sheev's approach. "Well? Did you see your redhead?"

"Yes."

"Excellent." His Master reaches into his pocket and hands over a credit card. "We leave in five days. Until then, your nights are your own. Find the girl and enjoy yourself. Enjoy her."

Sheev blinks at these instructions. And at the amount showing on the credit card.

"Consider it training," the Muun instructs. "For if you cannot seduce a woman, you will never seduce anyone to the Dark Side."

"You're serious?"

"Yes. Persuasion and manipulation are natural talents for you. This should not be much of a challenge, Apprentice." His tall Master leans his head down slightly man to man. "I want a full report on the ride home, Sheev," he chuckles. "A full report."


	2. Chapter 2

The Apprentice hears her braying Rim accent before he sees her. The redhead's voice sounds stereotypically average, like the everywoman of the galaxy, only louder. She must be right outside the door when one of the other girls stops her. The women's voices are muffled, but he gets the gist.

"Hey, Cresta, can I borrow twenty credits? Just until tomorrow."

"What do you need my credits for? Frieda, I saw you rake in plenty last night."

"I need to buy diapers again. Those things cost a lot."

"Don't bullshit me, Frieda. I know you blew your cash on spice again. Look, I'm two months behind on my rent, I just got fired from my day job, and I barely got anything last night."

"You did not. I saw you come back here."

"Yeah, well, there was no deal."

"You gotta start fucking, Cresta. It pays much better."

"Yeah, whatever. Here. Now I need that cash back tomorrow. And I mean it, Frieda. I'm really broke. I need all the credits I can get. Tomorrow, got it?"

Then the door opens with a whoosh and in steps his demimonde redhead. "You again?" She pops out her hip, folds her arms across her chest and levels Sheev a look that says she is unimpressed. She's no longer her tulle and chignon self from earlier. Now she's back in the fishnet stockings, thong and heavy eye makeup he remembers from last night.

And just thinking about that contrast in presentation excites him. Two hours ago this girl was leaping around onstage looking like some joyous Vestal Virgin and now she's here meeting him in a backroom ready to be his hired whore. Gods, this woman is hot.

"Hello, Cresta," Sheev greets her softly. He stands when she enters the room, like his Master does for women. Women always seem to throw themselves at the Hego Damask. Maybe part of it is his impeccable manners.

This girl doesn't seem to notice. Instead, she frowns at Sheev's use of her name. "You overhead, I suppose."

"No." He holds up tonight's ballet program in his hand for her to see. It's gratifying to see how quickly the gesture wipes the smirk off her face. And now her stance shifts and she's lost that fierce bitch look to her. She reaches up to smooth her hair behind her ear and looks away to the side, clearly uncomfortable. Her profile is presented to him now and it's every bit as elegant and refined as it was onstage earlier tonight.

She truly is beautiful.

Last night Sheev had found this girl to be mildly attractive. She had stuck out because she wasn't the usual fleshpot from the strip club scene. Plus, she had that long red hair. Sheev had smoked enough spice that he had gotten horny and she was the convenient solution. Until she wasn't.

And that had intrigued him. This girl was a whore alright, but she was a whore with standards and limitations. Sheev hadn't known whether to be impressed or annoyed by her refusal. Mostly, he had been amused. It takes a lot to surprise a Sith, after all.

But now that he knows this girl lives a double life, Sheev is drawn to her. For she's like him, two persons in one. Watching the quicksilver change just now from hardened, foul-mouthed working girl to down on her luck classically trained dancer is everything he has been hoping for. He himself is a man who lives in disguise. He is not who he appears to be. And neither is she.

Gods, this woman is hot.

Sheev walks towards her. He's not particularly tall for a human male, but he easily tops this diminutive woman even in her stiletto heels. "Which are you?" He needs to know. He's been wondering this all night. "Are you the whore who became a ballerina? Or the ballerina who became a whore?"

She doesn't answer. She just eyes him warily. Finally, she speaks. "How did you know?"

"I saw your feet." And this is true. He had noticed them last night. The calloused toes with the tiny bacta patches tucked here and there. When he saw this girl's feet, old buried memories had come flooding back and it had disarmed him for long moments. Sheev had sat there, staring at this girl and vigorously smoking spice as he had let the past wash over him.

"I had a sister who liked to dance," he explains. "I remember what it did to her feet." Then more words come out before he can stop himself. "She was a redhead. Like you." Yes, all of the Palpatine siblings had some color of red hair, from auburn to strawberry blonde. The red hue had come from his mother's side of the family.

He won't mention that he saw Cresta on the street this morning. Sheev Palpatine knows better than to give away too much information. The wily Muun has taught him well.

"Why are you back?" she asks him plainly. She's scrunching her toes and he is pleased to see that he has made her self-conscious. Negging the pretty girls always works. It got him laid most weekends at college years ago back in Theed. So it should be a sure thing with a girl for hire like this.

Time to get down to business. "I want to hire you."

"I told you I don't fuck for money," she snaps at him.

"I want your time. I am in town for another five days. I want you to come stay with me at my hotel so I can get to know you. I have business during the day, so do what you want then. But you will spend your nights with me."

"I told you I don't fuck for money." She turns to leave but he stops her with a restraining hand on her arm. She shoots him a cold look and shrugs him off, but she stays.

He repeats himself, this time mimicking the slow cadence of the Muun. "I'm not asking you to fuck me. I'm asking you to spend time with me." And then he names a sum.

It has the desired effect. Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open for a moment. But she recovers fast and then counters with an even higher sum. And, damn, this woman drives a hard bargain. He loves her cheeky boldness. It reminds him of himself. He wants to agree outright to her demand but his pride won't let him, so he does the obvious move and cuts her increase in half.

"All in advance," he promises. "Now do we have a deal?"

She considers, looking very torn. She must be—he's just learned that she is broke and fired. But then she surprises him and declines. "No. You're not paying that much money just to talk. I'm no fool. Thanks guy, but no thanks." Once more she turns to leave and again he catches her arm.

"Sheev," he tells her. "My name is Sheev Palpatine. Remember it, Cresta Cole. Remember it well." Then he turns her loose.

* * *

When people think of Coruscant, they think of the wide pedestrian esplanades on the Upper Level, of the shopping district full of exclusive boutiques that set the fashions for the galaxy, of the entertainment district with the opera and the fashionable see-and-be-seen nightclubs. And maybe some people think of the sprawling Republic Senate complex, of Coruscant University that is the envy of all other worlds, and of the majestic Jedi Temple. Yes, everyone thinks of the famous landmarks on this city world.

No one thinks of tenements like these.

The sleek and clean Coruscant Upper Levels are home to the wealthy and accomplished. The crowded Middle Levels house the work-a-day folks who raise families and pay taxes. But here on the Lower Levels live the downtrodden. These Coruscanti are one precarious step ahead of disaster.

And this, apparently, is where his chameleon girl lives. Sheev follows her when she gets off work. It's 4am, but there are still people wandering these streets, a testament to how many nightshift workers inhabit the Lower Levels. The air is thick with the stench of rotting garbage and the acrid smell of exhaust from a million transports filtering down from levels above. The streets are trash filled and some of the buildings are so old that they appear to be crumbling in places.

Everywhere he looks, Sheev sees neglect and poverty. This isn't quite the Coruscant Underworld. That's even more levels down. But this place somehow seems even less appealing. The Underworld has a certain seedy glamour and the promise of a good time. This place promises nothing but grim subsistence.

"Cresta!"

A woman's voice calls out and even in the dim light he can see Cresta smile. She has a big, broad smile. The redhead hollers back in a singsong way. "Mama Ru?"

"Over here."

From his hiding place in the shadows, Sheev squints at the vague form huddled on a nearby stoop. He can't tell if it's human or not. It looks to be some form of vagrant. It waves at the girl.

The vagrant is apparently a friend. She calls out again. "Cresta, your landlord was by today looking for you. He said he was gonna lock you out. I also heard him say he's going to send a gang to collect from you. Girl, you need you watch yourself."

His redhead frowns.

Then the vagrant type gives a hoarse laugh. "I think he locked out 7C. Aren't you 7D?"

"Yeah." Cresta chuckles a little at this. "Lucky for me."

"No, girl, not really. You gotta stay someplace else tonight. Here isn't safe."

"Yeah, okay. I'll just go get some stuff and then get outta here," she decides. He sees the dancer's slight shoulders slump with a sigh. "I got fired today. I'm going home, Mama Ru. I'm done with this world. Thanks for the tip though." Then his dancer girl reaches into the bag slung over her shoulder. "Did you eat today, Mama Ru?"

"Not yet."

"Then here. Catch." Cresta pulls something small out of her bag and lobs it at the huddled figure on the stoop. "It's strawberry. Your favorite." Then the redhead disappears up the stairs behind her and into the building.

He waits.

She's in there too long. A trio of thugs pulls up in a speeder now. One looks like a Gamorrean but the other two seem human from his vantage point. Sheev's sense of danger is pricked. He reaches under this tunic for his hidden saber as he strains to overhear.

"7C, right?"

"No. 7D. It's some stripper chic. We're supposed to rough her up a bit."

This is not good. These must be the landlord's enforcers. Sheev steps from the shadows and starts striding forward as Cresta appears at the building entrance. She's hefting another bag now. Probably full of her belongings.

"That's her!"

Cresta drops the bag and darts past the slow Gamorrean but one of the others grabs her firmly.

"Let me go!" She struggles but she is no match for the hulking thug who towers over her petite frame. Cresta might be strong from years of dancing, but Sheev sees that she has no concept of how to fight. "Let me go. I've got the money."

"We'll let you go if you give it to us."

"I don't have it with me," she stalls.

"She's lying. She doesn't have it. Boss says she's a dancer. Let's break her leg."

That's his cue. Sheev lights his sword. All heads turn at the ancient weapon's distinctive snap-hiss. Four pair of eyes widen at its shimmering red blade.

"Jedi!" breathes out the human holding Cresta. Instantly, he releases her. The other two follow his lead, standing down and stepping back. One even raises his hands like he expects Sheev to arrest him.

The Apprentice can't help but snicker. He's no keeper of the peace. And the irony of being mistaken for one makes him grin.

If they only knew.

"You!" Cresta is standing there as if he has frozen her in the Force. Staring at his lightsaber glowing in the dark. "You're a Jedi?"

Now is not the time to explain, so Sheev just motions to her. "Get behind me, Cresta." Again, Sheev mimics the slow, authoritative cadence his Master uses. And it works, she scuttles out of the way to his rear. For once, this girl does what he wants.

And then, he gets to work. Sheev takes the head of the Gamorrean first. Then cleaves the dark skinned human cleanly at the waist and then the neck before he can scream. The one who had held Cresta makes a run for it. But he is easily caught with the Force. This one Sheev makes suffer. Taking his arms one at a time as he screams out his agony. The finishing him with a skewering stab through the heart. That's his signature move. Sheev likes to stab through the heart.

The Apprentice revels in the rush of Dark power that comes with killing. This is what he lives for. This is why he is Sith. Not for the power and the plots that so captivate his Muun Master. But for the finality of death, the mastery of control, and the satisfaction of punishment. There's nothing like the feel of a plasma blade ripping effortlessly through flesh. On Mygeeto, he trains with droids. There's no fun in killing mechanicals. But this, Sheev thinks, this is fun. And so satisfying. He's like an angry young god of Darkness come to rescue the heroine.

It makes him feel invincible.

When it is over, he deactivates his sword and turns to Cresta. She's looking away, averting her eyes from the mess of the three men that lays strewn at their feet. Her shock is sort of endearing. So his redhead is squeamish despite all that bravado. This girl is nowhere near as tough and hard as she pretends to be, he realizes. And he kind of likes that. It makes him feel protective. And it's one more way in which this girl is not all that she appears.

He steps forward to look down at her. "Did they hurt you?" he asks in his best gruff hero voice.

She doesn't answer. She just stares into his eyes a long moment, her chest rising and falling as she sucks in air. Her face is a mix of amazement and fear. Yeah . . . she's impressed, he thinks. Good.

"Are you some sort of Jedi?" she whispers.

"Something like that." He doesn't elaborate.

Her eyes keep darting over to the dismembered corpses. She can't look away from them. She looks increasingly disturbed as she processes what just occurred.

"Don't look at them, look at me," he instructs calmly. Whatever this girl's life experience has been, clearly it hasn't included witnessing much graphic violence. His pale ballerina is now gone white as a sheet. Then he adds, "Don't think of them, think of me." Cresta nods like a child at this advice. This is perfect. She'll be putty in his hands, he thinks.

Until she opens her mouth. "I thought the Jedi were celibate. What the Hell were you doing propositioning me, guy?"

"Sheev. My name is Sheev," he reminds her. "And you're welcome, Cresta."

"Uh, thanks," she says at his prompting. Then again she glances over at the gruesome aftermath. And gulps. "Thanks, I think." Now she sways a little on her feet.

"Are you okay?" he prods. She really does look unsteady and afraid.

But she denies it. "Yeah. They didn't hurt me."

It's more of her false bravado, but he takes it at face value. "Good." Sheev walks over to collect her discarded bag of belongings. Then he grabs her hand and tugs. "Come on. We need to get out of here."

But Cresta stands her ground as she pulls away. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"What?"

Seriously? He stares at her. He just killed three men for this girl and maybe saved her life. For certain, he saved her a broken leg. This is as gallant as Sheev Palpatine has ever been. Couldn't she at least manage to look grateful? Instead, she looks horrified. No longer impressed, but just plain repulsed. Really, this is the point where she's supposed to fall into his arms for a passionate kiss. And then he whisks her away from this miserable slum and makes love to her all night long. Wrapped in her elegant dancer's legs with that curtain of long red hair tickling his chest.

And here's the best part: tomorrow he gets to brag to the Muun that he didn't need five days. He had only needed one night. Because that's how good Sheev Palpatine's game is with women.

Yeah, this is the sort of move his Old School Master would approve of. He'd be all for impressing a girl with your secret Sith power and then claiming your reward of her body. To the victor go the spoils, after all.

But apparently, his redhead doesn't realize that she is the damsel in distress. And it's probably not helping things that she thinks he's supposed to be celibate. Sheev frowns. It's hard to appear the dashing romantic hero to a girl who thinks you are a priest.

"Have you got a better offer?" he demands. Then frowns. That came out wrong. Not at all like smooth Hego Damask. So he tries again. "Let me help you. I like you, Cresta. And I can't leave you here all alone. It's not safe."

"I'll go back to the club." Cresta grabs for her bag he's holding but he doesn't let go. She frowns at this and asks, "Why did you follow me?"

"I was worried about you." That's not exactly true but women always like it when you act sensitive and concerned.

Except this one. "I can take care of myself," she retorts.

"Yes, you just demonstrated that, didn't you?" His sarcasm provokes her.

"You Jedi do-gooder types are always looking to save people," she grumbles. "Well, I don't need saving, Jedi Sheev."

And something about her candor prompts some straight talk out of him too. "You know, most people pretend that they are better than they actually are. You pretend that you're worse. What's with that?"

She snorts and it's kind of cutely obnoxious. "If you're looking for a hooker with a heart of gold, you're with the wrong girl."

"No, I'm not," he tells her. And it's true. Just tonight he's seen Cresta loan her co-worker credits she couldn't spare and feed a homeless street person. It's no wonder this girl is behind on her rent if she is always so softhearted. Didn't anyone ever teach her that charity begins at home?

Cresta runs a hand over her hair now, looking uncomfortable. "Anyhow, thanks for tonight but this is where we part ways."

"Why?" Asking questions is another favorite tactic of the Muun. It slows things down and forces reconsideration. So Sheev tries it on Cresta.

"Because I already turned down your offer. And well, you're kind of scary." She glares at him now. "Like you-just-killed-three-people-with-your-laser-sword scary."

Scary. He likes that description. How Sith. Sheev grins. "Well, take a good look, Cresta." He gestures towards to the bodies. "This is what you're risking. On your own."

She follows his gaze and stares hard at the grisly scene that had so upset her earlier. Then she walks over closer to look down at the headless Gamorrean. "Just like Simon," she whispers and Sheev has no idea what she's is talking about. But whatever it is, it's not a happy memory.

Sheev doesn't need Force augmented senses to know what's coming next. He drops her bag and moves quickly just in time to catch Cresta's drooping form. His redhead even faints gracefully, he sees.

This is the perfect solution, he thinks to himself as he places her in the passenger seat of the now ownerless speeder the thugs had arrived in. Cresta can't fault him for not leaving her defenseless and alone here in a swoon. And now he doesn't have to argue with her. Sheev climbs into the speeder and takes off for the Upper Level, pausing first to brush at her temple to put her deeper asleep with the Force. He doesn't want her waking up too soon.

Really, tonight couldn't have gone better, he realizes. He has this girl exactly where he wants her.


	3. Chapter 3

Cresta wakes to find herself laying fully clothed on a bed in a fancy hotel room. Her work bag is sitting on a nearby table, along with the sack of stuff she had hastily gathered from her rented room. On the small bedside table she spies a charging datapad and the Jedi's weapon. Is she alone? Glancing around it looks like she's alone.

For a moment, Cresta starts panicking. Then she reminds herself that wherever and whoever this guy is, he's a Jedi. And that makes him a good guy, right? Plus, she seems to be okay and she's wearing all her clothes. At least he hasn't hurt her.

"You are awake."

She whirls around to discover the creepy Jedi guy. He has emerged from the bathroom wearing a hotel robe and he's rubbing at his hair with a towel. He must be fresh from a shower. Thanks to his half open robe tied low, Cresta gets a good look at a lean and muscled chest with a row of washboard abs. She tears her eyes away.

"How do you feel?" he asks with a grin. He had noted that glance.

"Where am I?" Cresta stammers.

He gives her the name of the most expensive hotel in Coruscant. The one that Senators and visiting dignitaries frequent. "You are safe, Cresta," he assures her. But she isn't so confident. She remembers everything about last night. Especially the headless dead men.

Her eyes narrow and she's on her feet now looking for answers. "I don't understand—how did I get here?" she demands.

He looks her in the eye. "You fainted. I couldn't leave you there alone in the street. So, I took you back with me. You were asleep so I didn't wake you."

"Oh." Why doesn't she remember any of that?

There is a knock on the door and it's room service arriving with breakfast. For two. Breakfast? Cresta glances at the clock and, sure enough, its 6:30AM. Yes, she must have slept a few hours.

"My sister will be here today while I attend meetings," Sheev tells the attendant. "Send up an extra key for her. And put her on the account to charge to the room." As the employee departs, Sheev pours a cup of black caf and hands it to Cresta.

"Sister?" Cresta can't help but laugh a little at this silly ruse. She's sure that the hotel employees have heard that sister line before. No one is fooled.

But Sheev doesn't seem to care. "It's at least a credible excuse. All of the Palpatine kids had red hair," he tells her.

Cresta raises an eyebrow. "Do you usually travel with your sister?"

He grins mischievously. "Only for business visits to Coruscant."

"And do you always share a room?"

Now his grin gets wider. "Oh, absolutely."

"With a single king size bed?"

Sheev laughs out loud, just now seeing his mistake. "Good point," he allows. Then he gives her a creepy leer. "My sister and I are very close, Cresta. Very close." He walks over to inspect the breakfast and grabs a piece of toast before he slumps into a chair. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really." Cresta is far too unsettled to eat. And she really should get going.

"I suppose dancers don't eat much, do they?" he remarks. And that's not true, actually, but she doesn't correct him. Being a dancer is a bit like being an athlete, so Cresta eats plenty. But it's usually a lot of cheap protein bars like the one she threw to Mama Ru last night. Fresh food is expensive on Coruscant and it requires a kitchen to prepare.

"What did you mean when you said that you got fired from your day job?" he asks between bites. She can tell that Jedi guy has been waiting to ask her this.

But it's a sore subject for Cresta, and she's not sure how much to tell this strange man. She eyes him warily. He looks so calm and easygoing now, but he had seemed to enjoy killing those men last night.

He sees her hesitation. "You are not in any danger," he says quietly. "And you can trust me."

Cresta nods. But it's hard to find the words to tell him. She has been fired before, of course. But losing her contract wasn't like losing any old job. It was more like losing a dream. She looks down as she confesses softly, "The Ballet didn't renew my contract for next season."

"Why?" he wants to know.

"The real reason?" He nods. "There's a rich Senator who gave the Ballet a lot of credits last season to ensure that his daughter would get a spot in the corps de ballet. She's an okay dancer, but not good enough to dance professionally here at Coruscant. Maybe on some place like Alderaan, but not here. But the Ballet wanted the money and they had to create a spot for her in the corps. And, well, she got my spot."

"Everything is for sale in Coruscant," he observes dryly.

Cresta looks away now and admits, "I was on probation this past season for mouthing off to the choreographer a time or two. I was the natural choice for who to cut." Cresta blinks back the flood of tears now. She understands that this is how the world works, but that doesn't make it any easier to accept. And it had partly been her own fault.

She tells Sheev the pep talk that she has been telling herself since yesterday. "It was a good run while it lasted. I made it six years in all. I was the youngest girl they had ever accepted into the corps and I didn't come from any of the feeder ballet academies where they usually find new girls." She says this last bit proudly. Truly, she had been an outsider who had shoehorned her way into the insular world of elite ballet. Because Cresta Cole is determined like that when she sets her mind to something.

"What will you do now?" he asks. The Jedi's face and tone reveal his concern. Yeah, she decides, he must be a good guy. He looks so nice right now. So understanding.

So she tells him the truth. "I was thinking of going home." Cresta says this in a small, defeated voice. Dancing had been her ticket out of a Mid Rim working class life for a few years at least. But now she's going to end up stuck there working in some factory like everyone else she grew up with. And really, it's not a bad life. But it's not the life that Cresta Cole wants.

"The season has ended. Now I don't have to stick around all summer for the rehearsals for the upcoming season. There is some dance festival workshop stuff here during the summer but none of that pays money. And if I hang around for it, I've got to get more cash and that means . . . " Her voice trails off.

"That means what, Cresta?"

She doesn't really want to talk about this. Especially to a rich guy who probably has no idea how hard it is for real people live on this pricey planet. She shoots him a resentful look. "That means I'll have to start turning tricks for real at the club to make ends meet." He says nothing to this but Cresta is defensive all the same. "Look, Coruscant is expensive. And Ballet doesn't pay much. Plus, I send money home to my mom. She's not good with managing money like I am. Mom's always buying stuff for other people and loaning cash to friends and—"

Sheev just raises an eyebrow at her. "You mean doing the sorts of things you do to help people?"

He says this like it's a bad thing. Cresta scowls at him. And then she just comes out with it. "Yeah, well, not everyone is rich, Sheev. And yeah I help out my friends but there are times when I need their help too." Cresta stands up now, splashing some caf out of her cup with the rapid movement. "Look, you're awfully judgy for a celibate Jedi who twice tried to hire me to fuck you. It's Sunday morning—shouldn't you be at the Temple praying to the Force or something?"

He laughs out loud at this. "Oh, I do like you, Cresta. I like your sassy mouth." He leans forward now in his chair and looks her in the eye. "I am not a Jedi, Cresta, and I have never been one. I haven't been celibate since I was fifteen years old. And I am the last person to judge you. I am not big into morality."

But Cresta is still feeling like she has to explain. "Look, sometimes in life you have to do what you have to do. And I'm not going to apologize for it."

He shrugs his agreement. "You own your life choices. I get it. I do too. Now let's make deal: I won't judge you if you won't judge me."

"Judge you for what?" She's suspicious now. What the Hell has this creepy guy done?

"Judge me for defending you from those three men who were going to hurt you. For wanting to go to bed with you. And for wanting to spend time with you." He gives her an impish grin. Now he's flirting with her. "Don't judge me, Cresta, for wanting to help you and protect you and be with you."

Cresta rolls her eyes. But she smiles back at him. This guy is kind of likeable in a way. When he's not killing people, that is. Then she puts her cup down and walks over to grab her bag.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know. To the club, I guess. I need to dance so I can pay for a transport ticket home." She stops, remembering that it's Sunday and business is really slow at the beginning of the week. Even if she succeeds in calling in a few debts from friends, it will be the weekend before she can scrape by enough money for a ticket. Hopefully, Potter won't mind if she sleeps in the club until then. But if he does, maybe she can stay with one of the other dancers.

Sheev is on his feet now too, standing close to her. He moves to intercept her bag and place it back on the table. "Stay here, Cresta. My offer still stands. Credits up front for five days of your company. And you don't have to sleep with me unless you want to. I'll be a perfect gentleman, I promise."

And now Cresta is truly torn. She's going to be in Coruscant another five days anyway. And the credits he's offering are more than enough for her transport ticket plus she'd have plenty of money left over to use to get started again back home. If Cresta hadn't seen Sheev kill those guys last night, she would accept his offer. But this man is so dangerous. It's risky to spend more time with him. Her eyes glance to the bedside table where his weapon sits. Yeah, he's definitely scary. Maybe she should just take his cash and skip town this afternoon.

He's looking down at her now like he knows what she's thinking. "I would be trusting you to be here the whole time, Cresta." He says this sternly, like a warning. And it just reinforces her unease.

"Yeah? Well, I would be trusting you not to hurt me," she retorts, remembering his red lightsaber flashing in the night. "I don't want to end up raped and dead and dumped in an Underworld back alley."

"I could have left you in the street last night," he reminds her softly as he steps closer. "And I didn't touch you while you slept. I haven't so much as kissed you, Cresta."

It's true. This man has saved her from certain danger and whisked her away to luxury. He has even bought her breakfast. Creepy guy has been the perfect gentleman and gone way above and beyond what Cresta could ever have expected. And now he's offering her the money she needs just to hang out with him for a few days.

She looks down in confusion, uncertain what to do, when he tips her chin up. He stares down deep in her eyes as he tells her, "Cresta Cole, I will make you a promise that I will not make to any other person." Her eyes widen at this and, sure enough, this preamble makes his words even more chilling. "I will not hurt you. I will never hurt you."

And now Cresta is truly frightened. "What are you? Who are you?" she wonders aloud.

"Stay with me, and perhaps you'll figure it out," he tells her. Then he walks over to his discarded suit and reaches in for his wallet. Sheev pulls out a credit card, keys in an amount and his code. Then he hands it to Cresta. "Here's the money. I'm trusting you to be here tonight. Be dressed and ready to leave for dinner at eight. You and I have a date. I'll meet you in the lobby downstairs."

Cresta is still standing there looking at the credit card when five minutes later he emerges again from the bathroom fully dressed. He pauses at the door to smile at her on the way out. "Go to the spa, go shopping downstairs, sleep all day, do whatever you like. Charge anything you want to the room." And then he leaves.

Cresta takes Sheev up on is offer. For a day at least, she will live how the other half lives. Or, maybe this is more like how the galaxy's one percent lives. But she plans to make the most of it. So Cresta spends the morning sleeping until housekeeping barges in. Then she wanders downstairs to the spa and beauty salon. Several hours later, she's had a massage and a facial and her nails and toenails are painted a soft pink. Her long hair is freshly trimmed and blown out all smooth and shiny. Her makeup has been expertly applied and it's a soft and dewy combination of ladylike meets sexy. All in all, this is the most polished and rested she has looked in ages.

Now . . . what to wear? Cresta owns very few clothes other than leotards and tights for rehearsals and lingerie for club dancing. But she owns one decent dress that she bought secondhand to wear to appearances on behalf of the Ballet. A few times a season, even girls from the corps de ballet are expected to attend cocktail parties with patrons and donors. Cresta had grabbed the dress at her room last night and stuffed it in her bag. It's a little rumpled now, but it's black and figure hugging so hopefully the wrinkles won't show. The dress has a wide and low square neckline, three quarter length sleeves and a slim skirt that reaches her mid-calf. In a fashion era known for its sumptuous fabrics and ornate embroidery, this plain matte black dress looks especially boring.

It's quite possibly the most conservative thing Cresta has ever worn. And that was intentional, since Cresta does her best to appear at the Coruscant Ballet the opposite of her nighttime stripper alter ego. But this prim dress is the best she has. Well, really, it's all she has. So Cresta puts it on with a pair of ankle strap stripper sandals and tells herself she looks sleek and sophisticated. Then she adds another coat of lipgloss, smooths her hair and heads downstairs to meet Sheev.

A date. Sheev had called tonight a date. That's almost a quaint, old-fashioned term in this day and age when people swipe right and swipe left for casual hookups in close proximity. And a date seems like an unlikely choice of words for a night with a girl for hire who you plan to kill with your lightsaber. And so Sheev's phrasing has helped get Cresta comfortable with staying for tonight.

She's oddly excited about this dinner. Nervous too. Cresta hasn't felt this eager to please since her last audition. This arrangement with Sheev might be the worst decision of her life, she knows. But though it has real risks, it's the best option she has right now. And, well, this guy is very intriguing and he has treated her very well so far. Plus, he has that impish smile and that surprisingly hot chest.

So Cresta struts through the sprawling hotel lobby with as much confidence as she can muster. Hips loose and swinging and hair rustling slightly but with her characteristic dancer's posture. Chin up, neck elongated, shoulders back. In these heels, she's almost five foot seven and that makes her feel powerful and very tall.

Sheev is waiting for her already, and he's not alone. He's in conversation with a very tall, important looking Muun. Seeing this, Cresta slows and decides to hang back. She doesn't want to intrude or to force an awkward introduction. But the two men turn her direction. The Muun's eyes catch her first—he's clearly the type who habitually notices women—and Sheev follows his gaze. He smiles and beckons her forward.

"Cresta," Sheev welcomes her smoothly. "Come and meet Hego Damask, a business associate of mine."

She smiles absently up at the Muun. He is very, very tall compared to her. Now, five foot seven seems downright little. The grey skinned humanoid inspects her carefully top to bottom. It makes her feel defensive. It's like this towering Muun knows that she's insecure about her thrift shop dress and her knockoff shoes amid all this Upper Level luxury.

But whatever. It's all she has and she paid for it herself. So Cresta rallies and puts on her best stage demeanor. "Good evening, Mr. Damask," she intones quietly. Far quieter than Cresta Cole ever speaks. She's mimicking the cool society types she rubs elbows with a few times a year in this very same dress.

The Muun bows slightly in her direction. He is a formal man through and through, she sees. It's not just his princely robes, it's his manners too.

"Cresta dances with the Coruscant Ballet," Sheev supplies some information to help the conversation.

"Do you now?" the Muun asks with polite enthusiasm. "My wife Pilar was a wonderful dancer in her younger days. But she was not classically trained. Pilar has long been a fan of ballet. She comes to Coruscant several times a year to watch performances. She may have seen you dance."

Beside her, Sheev looks surprised by this information. He must not know this Muun fellow well, Cresta thinks.

"Oh, I am in the corps de ballet. I am not a principal dancer," Cresta explains. But she continues with her best Coruscant Ballet cocktail party small talk. "The programming for next season is especially good. If Mrs. Damask enjoys the ancient classical repertoire, she will be in for a treat. We are opening with _Giselle_."

"Indeed," the Muun tells her with a smile. "I will be sure to tell my wife that." Then he takes his leave, turning back to Sheev. "We will talk in the morning," he says. "I have some ideas from today's meetings. Good night, my dear. Such a pleasure to have met you." He favors Cresta with another slight bow and then the tall Muun with the craggy face and sharp eyes strides away.

She watches him leave, but misses the covert wink he sends to Sheev.

"Who is that?" Cresta asks, certain that the phrase business associate is some form of euphemism.

"He's the principal backer of my campaign," Sheev tells her. "I am running for the open Senate seat on Naboo."

Huh? "You're a politician?" Cresta has not seen this coming. "A politician?" What's a Senate candidate doing attempting to pay for sex in the Coruscant strip clubs? And killing thugs with a lightsaber on the Lower Level?

He grins and teases her. "You don't approve?"

"It was bad enough when I thought you were a Jedi," Cresta dissembles. "But now you're a politician. Wow." Truly, she is floored.

"He likes you."

"Huh?" She's still processing this information.

"The Muun. He likes you."

"Does that matter?"

"Most people think it does. By some measures, that Muun is the richest man in the galaxy."

All Cresta's pretensions to Upper Level gentility drop now. "No shit? That dude is the richest man in galaxy? Wow."

Beside her Sheev crows with laughter. "Come on, Cresta," he grabs her arm and leads her away. "Enough about him. Let me take you to dinner."


	4. Chapter 4

When she meets him, Cresta is wearing some godawful black dress that looks like something a Jedi nun would wear if she went on a date. But she's rocking those stripper shoes she dances in and her hair is down like a Pre-Raphaelite heroine and altogether the look is perfect. All soft and demure for the most part but with a tease of sex and vice all the same. And then she stands before his Sith Master speaking pleasantly about the Ballet like she's a socialite and not a whore. The meeting goes perfectly and Hego Damask is none the wiser. Which makes Sheev want to pump his fist in victory since it's not easy to put one over on Darth Plagueis the Wise.

Gods, this woman is so fucking hot. Sheev is completely into her.

He takes her to a sleek, hushed restaurant that's the perfect spot for a tete-a-tete. When she declines his offer of wine and opts instead for straight hard liquor, Sheev knows that this is the girl for him. He likes people who know what they want and are unashamed to ask for it. And all the subtle ways in which this girl is a mix of boldness and subterfuge intrigue him.

"So . . . you're running for the Senate?" Cresta prompts him. She looks impressed. "How old are you?"

"I'm thirty." Thirty years old, ten years the Apprentice, and finally judged sufficiently trained to graduate to true independent responsibility. For this Sith, his entry level job will be as junior Senator of the Galactic Republic. He and his Master plan to scuttle the Republic not from without, but from within. This election is just the beginning. For in the end, the Sith will rule the galaxy.

But this girl doesn't know that.

"Thirty. Isn't that a little young for a Senator?" she asks. "I thought all Senators were old and distinguished types."

"I'm losing my hair—does that help?" he asks innocently.

Cresta laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, it does," she decides. "But you still have a lot of hair, Sheev. It will be another twenty years before you look distinguished." She looks him over. "Is this why you're not a Jedi? So you can run for Senate? They don't let Jedi in the Senate, do they?"

"Oh, the Jedi meddle plenty in politics. But no, they are not in the Senate. I don't hold the same ideals as the Jedi, Cresta. The Jedi are very ineffective in most things, even if they talk a good game. They are very entrenched in their ways and convinced of their dogma. They are resistant to change. I am more forward thinking."

She just shrugs. "I don't know much about them. Only what we learned in school. I just thought that only Jedi use lightsabers, that's all."

He smiles noncommittally. "Well, now you know there are others who use them."

"So are you going to win this Naboo Senate seat?" She looks dubious.

Sheev answers honestly. "I hope so. The polling is good so far, and I have great name recognition from my family. But it's early on. A lot of things could change before the election this fall."

"So you're from a fancy family," she concludes. Cresta's eyes narrow and he can tell that his aristocratic background is not a point in his favor.

"Yes," he admits. "And I get the sympathy vote. My entire family was killed ten years ago in a transport accident. I am the only Palpatine who survived."

And now Cresta looks ashamed for her earlier reaction. "Oh, I'm sorry."

He's used to getting expressions of sympathy from others, especially on Naboo. But Cresta's seems so genuine. So he gives her a genuine response. "I am sorry for my mother and my siblings. Especially my sister. But not for my father. I hated my father, Cresta."

Cresta nods at this. "You don't get to choose your family," she tells him and this too reflects an undercurrent of genuine sympathy. "I have an older brother who's in jail, Sheev. So I get it," she shrugs. "Life is complicated. Families are complicated."

She looks him over thoughtfully, then asks. "What are you doing in the strip clubs if you are a politician in an election year? Isn't that a bit risky? Everyone has a camera on their datapad these days. Aren't you afraid that your opponent is going to put your photo on the holonet smoking spice and surrounded by girls?"

"It is risky," he shrugs. "But I can be reckless like that. And besides, voters might understand a lonely young, single guy like myself getting caught at the club. Now if I were twenty years older, married and distinguished with no hair. . . well, that's different."

And now, Sheev asks what he's been dying to know since he met this woman. "What about you, Cresta? What's your story? How did you end up dancing at the clubs and at the Ballet?"

She takes another sip of her drink and starts talking. "I got a lucky break when I was eighteen and the Ballet offered me a spot in the corps. But when I first got here I needed to make some cash before the season started so I began dancing nights in the clubs. And I met a guy. He was a boss. The big boss over several clubs." She looks sheepish now. "I fell hard for him and he sort of introduced me to this world."

Sheev has wondered if there is a secret spice habit behind all this. But no, it is an older boyfriend who dragged down an impressionable teenaged girl newly come to the big city. Maybe he should kill this guy, Sheev thinks. Because he certainly deserves it.

"Go on," Sheev prompts her. He wants to know the whole story.

Cresta looks sort of blank now as she tells the tale. "Simon didn't really care about me but I was young and stupid and when you fuck a guy you can fool yourself that you're in love. He was just using me. That asshole cheated on me every chance he got." Cresta makes a face. "I have a knack for picking the wrong guys."

"Present company excepted," Sheev allows with a teasing smile.

And she half-smiles back. "Of course, Sheev. Of course."

And, yeah, he is definitely going to kill this guy. For his Cresta suddenly looks so forlorn. "Did he dump you?"

"No. He's dead. The Hutts put a hit on him. He was found dead in the back alley behind one of his clubs. Someone stabbed him with a vibroblade. Then for good measure they sawed his head off. And that was that."

And now Sheev better understands why she fainted last night. Well, now he's off the hook for killing this Simon guy. Too bad, he would have liked that.

"So was he the only guy you've ever loved?" Sheev needs to know this, he's not sure why.

Cresta looks down at the table. "Yeah," she replies quietly. "And he was the first guy I ever slept with."

"So when did you start blowing guys for credits?" Wait-that came out wrong. Sheev makes a face.

She looks uncomfortable too. Ashamed. And Sheev wants to tell her that he doesn't care. But he can tell by her face that she wouldn't believe him. Because she cares. And that matters more than what anyone else thinks.

Cresta sighs and twirls a long lock of red hair around her finger. "I told you that I was on probation this past season. I was technically an alternate in the corps. So I didn't get to dance every production and sometimes I was a last minute substitute for when girls got injured or got sick. And that meant less money. And less predictable money. So I started picking up work on the side, as the club girls say."

"But you don't fuck."

Cresta looks him in the eye. "No." He can feel the truth behind her statement in the Force.

"Why is that?"

He's curious but he can tell that his question has made her indignant. This is clearly something the redhead has thought a lot about. Again, Cresta looks him in the eye. "Because I wanted to keep something for myself. You might not see the distinction, but I do. I want sleeping with someone to matter. To them and to me. So I'm not going to sell it."

This explanation defies economic logic for a girl in her line of work who needs cash. "You're just going to give it away? Generally, people value something more if it's not free."

She scoffs at this. "No, I'm not giving it away. A guy has to earn it."

And this answer pleases him much more than she will ever know. Not because Sheev cares about the sex so much, but because he cares about her self-respect. "That's very old fashioned of you," he teases her. "Next you're going to tell me I have to marry you to fuck you."

It's a ridiculous thing to say to a girl he hired out of a strip club. And they both know this. Cresta just chuckles. "Hell, no. I'm never getting married."

"That makes two of us," he concurs. "So what do you so for fun?"

"Honestly, I don't have a lot of time for fun."

"Me neither." Fun is not a big part of Sith Apprentice training. Pain, deprivation, lightsabers and hours of ancient texts in their original lost languages, yes. Fun, no. And that prompts him to say, "Let's go have fun, Cresta."

"Yeah," she nods her agreement. "I just got fired, I'm broke and I'm homeless. I could use some fun." With that, she pounds the rest of her drink and shoots to her feet, whipping that glorious mane of red hair over her shoulder. "Drink up," she tells him and it's a command. "We're going dancing." Because, of course, dancing is how this girl has fun.

And that's how Sheev Palpatine, the youngest ever Senate candidate from Naboo and secret Sith Apprentice, finds himself drunk on a crowded dancefloor laughing and hopping to overly loud techno trance music. Hours later, they stumble back to Sheev's hotel room and both collapse into sleep face first on the bed.

Sheev can't remember the last time he had this much fun when it didn't involve killing someone.

The next morning he meets the Muun early, as usual. He gets caught stifling a yawn. His Master raises an eyebrow and Sheev just mumbles, "The redhead." And that makes the senior Sith grin and slap him on the back as he commends Sheev's commitment to training.

It becomes a pattern automatically. Cresta meets him each night in that same black dress and heels, perfectly presentable and demure at the outset of the evening. Then he takes her to dinner someplace expensive, respectable and quiet to talk. And then once the talk has gotten too heavy for one of them, dinner is over. And then it's off to have fun.

One night, fun is joyriding Coruscant in a rented speeder. Then it's sneaking into the giant Senate chamber after hours with the surreptitious help of the Force. The last night, he sits smoking spice on a bench in the park adjacent to the Jedi Temple with Cresta huddled up alongside. This is where he and Plagueis should build their Imperial Palace, he thinks while looking up at the home of his tribe's ancient foe.

And that prompts Sheev to tell Cresta, "I want to be the Supreme Chancellor someday."

"You'd be good at that," she seconds his dream and reaches to share his joint. "I want to be a principal dancer someday. To dance the lead roles. I guess it won't be here on Coruscant. But somewhere."

"You'd be good at that," he agrees.

Night after night begins as a careful presentation to each other and to the public who might happen to witness them. But as the evening wears on, the facades fall away and the real people emerge. Well, it's sort of the real Sheev. He's not ready to tell this girl everything after five days. But even so, it's liberating for him to drop the smooth politician posturing and let loose a little. To act more like thirty and less like fifty. Flowing in the wake of Hego Damask all these years and preparing for this campaign, Sheev now knows an enormous number of people. But this random girl he hired for a few days is the closest thing he has to a friend.

It takes effort, but he manages to keep his hands off of her. Even when she's drunk and snuggled up against him on the hotel bed with her skirt hiked up to her thighs. That's how they sleep every night—fully clothed on top of the made bed. Side by side. He's supposed to be trying to fuck her but Sheev never seems to get around to it. Because by the time they are back in the hotel room it's almost dawn and he reminds himself that he needs two hours of sleep to make it through the next day.

It's not that he doesn't want to sleep with her, it's that he likes this girl. A lot. And that makes things different.

He doesn't want to screw this up.

But each night once he puts a drink in her and a joint in him, Sheev cuddles up to Cresta every chance he gets. He's got his arm around her waist and then his hand accidentally on purpose brushes across her tight little ass. Or he leans in to whisper something in her ear just to feel her soft hair graze his face. These are fleeting, subtle touches and he tells himself that he's taking it slow and being smooth. And she doesn't resist, so yeah she's into him. Everywhere they go, people assume they are a couple so he knows he's reading the situation correctly.

Sheev knows he could roll over onto her one night and easily have his way. He's a Sith and he can take whatever he wants. But he wants Cresta to trust him. To know that he won't hurt her, won't take advantage of her, won't slap her around like he does other whores. He likes Cresta. She's like him and there's nothing Sheev Palpatine loves more than himself.

Plus, all that talk their first night about how she wants sex to mean something had made an impression on him. It was romantic in a way, and that appealed to him. And it had upped the ante. For now his challenge is to seduce Cresta's heart, not just her body. And that seems much more predatory in the end. So Sheev has decided to treat her well and to honor their bargain. Fuck his Master. Fuck Sith training. Sheev is going to do this his way.

And anyhow, there's something so subversive about treating a hired whore like a lady on a pedestal. And so unexpected about being the ruthless Dark Sith who acts the perfect gentleman.

This girl has real possibilities and Sheev wants to see her again. Once he wins the Senate seat and he's in Coruscant full time, he'll be out from under his Master's observant eyes and he'll have more free time. And there will be plenty of events and outings for which he can bring along a companion. Sheev can show up with the beautiful redheaded ballerina on his arm and only she and he will know she strips in the clubs. So as he introduces her around to all the pompous old assholes who run the Senate and their matronly, disapproving wives, none will be the wiser. It will be the inside joke that only he and she can share. Together they will laugh and let loose and no one will be the wiser of their respective daily charades.

So on the morning of the fifth day, Sheev tells Cresta to grab all of her stuff because they're leaving. Then he hails a speeder taxi and they head for the Middle Levels. Cresta keeps pestering him for their destination, but he puts her off. She's cute when she's confused. And Sheev wants it to be a surprise. Twenty minutes later, they arrive at a nondescript apartment building next to an elementary school. "Wait-what is this?" she complains, but he just tugs her forward into the building and up a few flights where he punches in a security code.

"This," he gestures expansively around the brightly lit furnished efficiency apartment, "is your new home."

"Seriously?" Cresta looks at him with suspicion. Then annoyance. "I can't afford this. Look—it even has a kitchenette! They charge big money for an apartment like this, Sheev." Her face says it all as she grumbles, "Even if I could make the monthly rent, I could never scrape together the security deposit for a place this nice. This is out of my league, Sheev. Look," she peers out the window at the schoolyard below, "Nice families with kids live here."

"You live here now too," he informs her smugly. "The rent is paid up for the next six months, Cresta. And the security deposit. It's yours, Red. All yours."

"Seriously?" she asks again. This comes out a bit like a squeal. She's wide eyed and excited. And wary too, he sees.

"Seriously. I want you to stay in Coruscant, Cresta. Stay and do your dance workshops this summer and keep up your skills. You're talented and you'll get another break soon. You just need to be patient. Give me a month to work on it."

"But—" she starts to sputter out a protest but he cuts her off.

"Go ahead and dance at the clubs." He gives her a meaningful look now. "But just dance, nothing else."

"I don't understand, Sheev." Truly, she looks baffled by this turn of events.

"Save the rest for me, Cresta," he tells her as he steps closer. "I'll be in Coruscant a lot over the next few months for the campaign. I want to keep seeing you."

"Wait-so I'm your kept woman now?" she raises an eyebrow at him. "You bought me for five days and now you want to extend it to six months?"

Well, yes, but he explains it differently. He's a politician now, and he knows how to smooth over ruffled feathers. "I want you to be safe, Cresta. You'll be safe here. Let me take care of you."

His smart girl isn't fooled. "I'm supposed to sleep with you now too, is that it?"

"No. Same deal as before. I only want your time, Cresta. The rest is up to you." And now he steps even closer. "Don't give up on your dream. This is the bright center of the universe. Coruscant is where dreams come true. Stay and maybe both our dreams will come true here."

And those words hit home, he sees. For five days after being fired, Cresta is still smarting from the unfairness of it all and mourning the loss of her dance career. She's not yet ready to relinquish her dream, and they both know it.

"No one has ever done anything like this for me before." She's looking up at him, touched and a bit amazed by what he is offering her. It's exactly the reaction he has been hoping for. And now Sheev is drowning in those grey-blue eyes of hers. She's inches from him now, and he can't resist her pull.

"I'm not like other guys, Cresta." He groans this out as he tugs her to him, his lips descending to claim hers. She fits perfectly against him, her lean, strong frame the female complement to his own. He has been thinking about this since that night he first saw her twerking in the club. Thinking about how she won't feel like fake boobs and enhanced lips like the usual stripper.

Yes! Yes! He doesn't want to stop. He wants to tug her down and fuck her hard as she wraps those dancer's legs of hers around his hips. He wants to bury himself into her as she gasps out his name. His Sith name. He's possessive and he has been coveting her for days now. Denying his baser instincts that his Master would only encourage. Oh, Gods! Kissing this girl is bliss. And he wants more. He's a Sith so he always wants more.

But this girl is special. Too special for him to rush into this. She isn't one of the interchangeable coeds he used to bone at college and forget the next day. She isn't one of the anonymous hookers he ruts into for physical release then smacks around a little to appease his need to inflict pain.

Cresta is different. She's the talented, smart girl from the gritty world who like him lives a double life. All elite grace and beauty by day and raunchy street smart striver by night. The ballerina who impresses thousands onstage and the prostitute who lap dances for an audience of one. He doesn't disdain her for this, he admires her. For the intrinsic chutzpah and sly cheekiness of her plight. She might be dead to the Force and have no knowledge of the Sith, but this woman is stealth and ambition all the same. She might just be the only woman who could truly understand and appreciate him. And that, Sheev thinks, is worth waiting for.

So he breaks the kiss and steps back, leaving them both wanting. Oh, how he wants this girl. His body is screaming for her. But he resists. "Cresta, this isn't the end, it's only the beginning," he promises her.

That afternoon, as indicated, the Muun wants a full report.

"Well?" His Master asks as they climb aboard his gleaming luxury cruiser that will take them both back to Muunilinst. "Mission accomplished, Apprentice?"

Sheev says nothing.

"Oho!" his Master seizes on this. "So the mission was not accomplished!" He is being mocked now. And it's fucking annoying. "Which did you need—more time or more credits? Or both?"

"These things are not to be rushed," Sheev responds stiffly, irked. And, to his great annoyance, flushing.

His Master chuckles now. "I do not know whether to be impressed by her or disappointed in you, Sheev. Although, come to think of it, she did have the look of a puritan about her with that severe black dress. More librarian than femme fatale. It must be all that ballerina discipline," he muses.

When Sheev does not respond, his Master continues to needle him. "Is she virgin, do you think? Your redhead looked very respectable in a middle class sort of way. All Mid-Rim hardwork, honesty and family values. Part of the righteous herd who cling to their blasters and religion." And listening to his Master sum up Cresta like this is hugely ironic, but of course Sheev doesn't let on.

The Muun warms to his theme, "I had no idea that you had chosen such a virtuous girl. Well, then, when we are next in town, you will need to complete your training." His Master is laughing now, no longer mocking him but mocking his Cresta. And thoroughly enjoying this man-to-man locker room talk. "That one is just begging to be corrupted. And if you aren't man enough for the task, I shall have to step in for you, Apprentice."

So intent is his Master at his glee that he completely misses the hateful glare Sheev sends his way.

And this too is a beginning for Sheev. For today a seed is planted that will take decades to grow to fruition. But grow, it will. And its consequences will reverberate across the galaxy.

But his Master doesn't notice.

As it turns out, Sheev doesn't need a full month to help Cresta. Two weeks later he receives an excited message from her. The Ballet called today and they are extending Cresta a contract for next season after all. It turns out that the Senator's daughter who took Cresta's spot in corps was in a terrible speeder accident over the weekend. The poor girl has both a broken ankle and a broken leg, and she will be out for the entire season.

The pure joy behind Cresta's message practically leaps off the screen of his datapad. Sheev wishes he were there to see her face as she had typed it. And then, he wishes he were there to see the Ballet director's face when he had received the news about the Senator's daughter. Sheev wonders whether they will return the Senator's money now. That's how it works in the Republic Senate where corruption is concerned. For a political quid pro quo, there's always a money back guarantee.


	5. Chapter 5

Everything is falling into place. It is an exciting time.

Sheev's campaign war chest is full, he has secured all the major party endorsements, and his opponent has made a few missteps that he has turned into effective media advertisements. Sheev is very comfortable on the campaign trail now and his stump speech has been honed to a precise twenty-minute populist reformer manifesto. His message must be getting through because all the polling and focus group research is trending heavily for Sheev. Plus, the prevailing public mood for political change bodes in his favor.

As his Master informed him only yesterday, unless he fucks up, Sheev Palpatine will be the next Senator from Naboo.

There is only one drawback to his campaign, and it's personal. He doesn't get much time to see Cresta. Sheev is on Coruscant about one day a week between campaign events and appearances on Naboo. But between her commitments and his back-to-back meetings, mostly they just have an hour together to grab caf or lunch. But it's something.

Once he wins the election, Sheev promises, he will be in Coruscant most of the time and they can be together. Then it won't be a few stolen minutes out of an overscheduled day followed by a furtive, searing goodbye kiss. And then back to exchanging datapad messages and pictures until next week.

Sheev does have the occasional overnight trip to Coruscant. And those nights Cresta is back in her only dress looking beautiful as he takes her out.

One night they are sharing dessert and playing footsie under the table when Sheev leans over to ask, "So what do I have to do to earn a night with you, Cresta?" Even in the candlelight of the restaurant, he can see her cheeks flame as red as her hair. She's embarrassed, and that's a rarity. And it's kind of endearing to see the jaded stripper who had haggled with him over a blowjob now blush at the mention of sex. His girl is full of contradictions, and he loves it. She will never bore him.

"Well?" he follows up when she stays silent. He's amused now. "We negotiated about this when we first met," he reminds her. "You weren't tongue-tied then, I recall."

"That was business. That was different," she explains. "And you know that I'm kind of old fashioned . . . " Cresta looks sheepish now as her voice trails off.

How old fashioned? "Do I have to marry you to get you into bed?" he asks, suddenly fearing she'll say yes and he'll have blue balls for another year or more.

But Cresta just laughs. "No one is that old fashioned!" And he exhales the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "I'm never getting married, Sheev. Marriage doesn't last." He nods his agreement at this wisdom. Then, in true Cresta fashion, she blurts out bluntly. "Look, I only sleep with guys I'm in love with. I don't fuck around, Sheev. Not for money or otherwise. I'm not that kind of girl."

"Does this mean you don't love me, Cresta?" he complains.

She fires back, "Are you in love with me?"

He thinks for a second and then looks confused. "But I thought you said you'd only been in love once before."

"Yes."

"Oh."

And now he's grinning like an idiot at this news. It pleases him more than he will ever admit to know that Cresta has only slept with one man and he's dead. That almost kind of makes her virgin again in his mind. It's like it doesn't count if the guy is dead because then you can't be jealous of him. And that means Sheev will be Cresta's one and only. He likes that thought since he's a possessive, obsessive Sith.

And, what's better, this is even one more layer of duplicitous irony for his Cresta. She's his Swan Lake princess by day and hooker by night. But she's the hooker who doesn't fuck around. Because she's not that kind of girl. Oh Gods, he thinks as he grins across at her, maybe he does love this woman. And if he doesn't, then he should. Because she's perfect for him.

And now her footsie game escalates and she's got the toe of her heeled sandal in his crotch. He catches her eye and she winks. "I don't have to love you to blow you, you know," she tells him in a low voice.

"Is that an invitation?" Fuck, he hopes so.

"Yes." Cresta lowers her eyelashes and gives him a small, sly smile. Damn, she looks hot like that. "I'll make it good. I'm a professional, remember?"

He gets the check.

The next time they meet, he has a surprise for Cresta. "Get in the speeder, Red. We've got an hour and we're not going for caf today. We're going shopping."

"Shopping?" She looks surprised. And amused. "But I thought men were allergic to shopping."

"Normally, I am," he agrees. "But not today. The Senate Majority Leader has invited me to sit at his table for opening night of the Ballet next month. Cresta, you're going to the gala with me after you dance the performance. And I'm buying you a dress. A good dress." Not that tired old black thing he's seen dozens of times by now. And besides, it's not formal enough for this event. He wants his Cresta to look beautiful and expensive on his arm. Years trailing after Hego Damask have taught Sheev the importance of appearances. He wants to get people talking about him and Cresta, in a good way.

"Oh." He has pleased her, Sheev sees. But Cresta shoots him a look of concern. "If you start buying me dresses and taking me to parties, people are going to think that you're my boyfriend, Sheev."

"Yes," he agrees happily. And ten minutes later they are on Coruscant's version of the Avenue Montaigne. Cresta's eyes are wide and he can tell that she's intimidated by the designer boutique he leads her into. And it's sort of fun seeing Cresta subdued and at a loss for words. He smiles his silent encouragement at her before turning to the saleslady.

"My sister dances with the Coruscant Ballet and she needs a dress for the opening night gala. What can you show her?"

"How about that one?" The saleslady gestures to the window to a strapless black velvet dress with intricate all over shiny black embroidery. She turns to Cresta. "It's from our fall collection. Black will be so striking with your red hair, you know. The pattern is a star map of the galaxy reproduced on fabric."

Sheev looks at the dress and then looks at Cresta. "Go try it on."

"Yes, this is it," Sheev announces five minutes later as he admires Cresta's petite shape in the figure hugging gown. His ballerina has such elegant shoulders and arms to display in this style dress. And when the saleslady reappears to drape a long hooded cape in matching embroidered black velvet over Cresta's shoulders, Sheev is decided. For he can't help but think that Cresta looks very Sith like that. Like she could be his lady. He can't wait to show her off gowned in the color of Darkness and wearing the galaxy. It's a sly wink at destiny that only he and his Sith Master can appreciate. But Sheev's doing it all the same. And just look at Cresta twirling before the mirror like a little girl playing dress up. She's pleased beyond measure.

"We'll take it," he tells the saleslady.

"Sheev, this costs a fortune!" Cresta hisses at him as the saleslady skitters off to ring the sale. "You're spoiling me."

"You should let me do more of it," he tells her. And he means it.

* * *

That summer is the best summer of her life. Even years later, looking back there is something magical about those few months of happiness and ignorance.

For with her renewed contract in hand, Cresta rededicates herself to her art. Second chances are rare in life, she knows, and she's not going to blow this one. Cresta is determined to make a fresh start. To show the company that she belonged onstage all along. So with Sheev's encouragement, she adjusts her attitude and brushes the chip off her shoulder. Cresta is every bit as polite and deferential as she was when she showed up as a starry eyed eighteen-year-old fresh out of school.

Cresta is trying. Really hard.

It's a lot easier to focus on her career now that she is not stressed about money. With her rent paid and the money from the five days she spent with Sheev, Cresta only club dances on weekends now. That means she gets regular sleep five nights a week and she isn't prancing in sky high heels as often. It shows. Her technique is spot on now that she's not perpetually exhausted and her body has time to fully recover between rehearsals.

Cresta attends every summer dance workshop with the visiting choreographers and dancers from off-world. And that gives her more exposure in her craft. The director of the Alderaan Ballet gives Cresta his card and takes her aside. He would be interested in talking with her about a principal dancer position in a year or two when one of their current girls retires. Cresta promises to stay in touch.

And suddenly, the guy from Alderaan is not the only one who thinks Cresta is poised for the next step in her career. The Ballet assigns her as understudy for the season's opening production. That's a big surprise considering just months ago she was out of a job, but the General Director tells Cresta she's earned it. Once again, Cresta Cole is back in everyone's good graces. Sheev's advice for how to get ahead has been spot on.

All this career success puts a permanent smile on her face, for she is happier than she can remember. And a big part of that happiness is Sheev.

Men have not been the most reliable figures in Cresta's life. She has a father she has only met a handful of times and doesn't care to know any better. There was a stepfather several years back but he didn't hang around very long. And by the time she was a teenager, her older brother had already gone to jail. Then there was Simon. At fifteen years her senior, the club hustler had been part big brother, part father and part lover. And he too had let her down. All the men Cresta has ever been close to have let her down. They have left for other things, for other women or for jail. But to a man, they have left.

A woman has to care of herself. It's a life lesson Cresta has seen repeated over and over again between herself and her mother. Be independent and know that in the end you are the only person you can rely upon. Men will come and go but you remain. You must take care of you.

So Cresta tells herself not to get attached to Sheev. That he won't stay either. But she's not wholly convinced. Because unlike Simon, Sheev isn't using her for sex. Or trying to borrow money. He has never gotten drunk and knocked her around the way her stepfather used to do to her mother. And he is never harshly critical and belittling the way she remembers her real father acting.

Instead, Sheev treats her like a lady. He doesn't text for hookups, he takes her out on fancy dates and gives her a goodnight kiss. And, yeah, they fool around some too, but he never pressures her for sex. Plus, it's nice that Sheev isn't looking for her to mother him. Instead, he's the one who looks after her, renting her apartment and wanting Cresta to message him when she gets home late after nights at the club. He wants to know that she got home safely, Sheev tells her, because otherwise he would worry.

Until the election is over, they won't get a lot of time together, so when she and Sheev do meet it's mostly to hang out and talk. He's helping her navigate the work politics of the Ballet. She's his listening ear when he gripes about the absurdity of the media and public policy. Cresta has no idea what Sheev's actual campaign platform is. Nor does she know what the issues are for the Naboo Senate election. But if she could vote for Sheev Palpatine, she would. Because it doesn't matter what he believes in. She believes in him.

Mostly, he tells her about the strategy behind his campaign-how he has outflanked his opponent and maneuvered away her supporters. Sheev seems to treat the election like a chess game, reveling in the tactics he plots for his success. Sheev has a knack for getting exactly what he wants without appearing to ask for it. Cresta is taking notes because she too has big ambitions in her chosen career. Ballet is a bit like politics in that sometimes you have to be in the right place at the right time.

Opportunity keeps knocking for Cresta. An hour before the curtain rises for the opening night performance, the girl dancing Giselle lands a _jet_ wrong in warmup and twists her ankle badly. Cresta is called in as understudy to be her replacement. There's no time to get nervous because it all happens so fast. Cresta is being helped into costume as the stage director starts reminding her of all the cues. And then she's practicing the lifts and talking timing with her male friend dancing the Albrecht role. Before Cresta knows it, she's onstage, the music swells and the curtain rises.

Two acts and two hours later, it's over. And, all in all, despite a few bumpy parts, it's a triumph.

The gala after-party is in full swing when Cresta arrives with Sheev. The Ballet's General Director grabs the microphone and hushes the crowd to welcome her in as tonight's newly discovered star, publicly praising her artistry and her coolness under pressure. She's the corps de ballet understudy who just saved opening night. Someone starts clapping and the whole crowd joins in enthusiastically.

It's an amazing moment. Cresta stands there smiling broadly, an enormous bouquet in one arm and Sheev on the other. This is what she has worked for since she was a little girl spinning on the playground. And tonight, through an improbable set of events and many years and rehearsals later, she has danced the lead role on opening night of the galaxy's most prestigious ballet company.

Sheev is right, she realizes. Coruscant is where dreams come true.

Cresta turns to him now, heedless of the crowd of onlookers and the cameras snapping away. He's the young soon-to-be-Senator she has fallen in love with. Yeah, Sheev was scary and creepy at first, but she took a chance on him and he treats her better than Cresta ever could have imagined. Sheev is the dependable, smart and supportive guy who came to her rescue when she needed it most. A good man through and through.

"Let them see you," he murmurs as he throws back the hood of her cloak to better reveal her. "One day, everyone will see you standing at my side, Red," he promises. "Together, you and I are going to take Coruscant by storm. And someday I won't just buy you a dress, I'll give you the galaxy for real." Then he kisses her before everyone.

Her starring role is a onetime thing, for the regular Giselle is recovered and ready to dance the remaining performances. But flushed with encouragement by her good reviews, Cresta won't grumble about being back dancing in the corps de ballet. Only months ago, she had thought that her career here was over. And now, Cresta is a rising star. Perhaps she'll get promoted to soloist next season, she hopes.

Cresta is backstage after the final performance of Giselle when the Ballet's General Director himself leads a visitor to her dressing room. That's a huge tipoff that this woman is an important patron. Well, that and the two scary looking, heavily armored bodyguards who flank her on both sides.

"Madame Pilar, this is Cresta Cole. Cresta is the understudy you read about who danced the lead role on opening night. Tonight you saw Cresta in the corps de ballet. How proud we are of her for stepping up to dance so beautifully as we opened the season." The General Director looks like he is about to continue talking-this is a man who talks a lot-but his assistant darts in to interrupt and whispers in his ear. He excuses himself rapidly and Cresta is left alone with the patron woman and her security.

Cresta's visitor promptly requests her guards to wait outside and now the two women are alone.

"Hello," Cresta says, holding out her hand to the older blue skinned Twi'lek lady. Her visitor is extremely pretty despite the effects of time, though her tentacles seem to show her age much more than her lovely face and neck. This grand lady is swathed in an elegant navy dress that is quite décolleté. But it's not the cleavage that draws Cresta's eye. It's her necklace. This woman wears a thick diamond choker that oddly reminds Cresta of her stripper friend Frieda's slave girl act. It's an eye popping piece of jewelry, complete with a straggling short chain that hangs down to nestle between this woman's breasts. The chain too is designed to be seen, for it is encrusted with glittering stones.

"Hello," the woman responds softly. "I asked to meet the Giselle my Master read to me about in the reviews." The visitor speaks slowly with the pronounced thick twang and broad vowels of the far Outer Rim. It's an accent Cresta rarely hears in this setting. And it seems jarringly out of place with this dignified lady's obvious wealth. "Your technique is beautiful. Especially your jete. I'm sorry I weren't here to see you dance on opening night."

"Thank you." Cresta glows with this praise. Especially since this patron seems to truly know dance.

"You're Palpatine's girl, yeah?"

Cresta doesn't know how to respond to this. "I uh . . . uh . . . "

The Twi'lek lady smiles kindly at flustered Cresta. "You was the only redhead dancing tonight, right? I didn't see any others onstage. Did I miss one?"

And now this exchange is getting even more bizarre as Cresta struggles to reconcile the exquisite appearance and stately demeanor of this patron with her backwater accent and mangled grammar. But perhaps Basic is not this grand dame's native tongue.

So Cresta settles on saying, "Yes, I know Sheev Palpatine."

The woman nods encouragingly. "Do not be shy. I am the Master's woman, so you may speak plainly. The Master likes you." And now the Twi'lek woman reaches up to fiddle with her diamond choker as she speaks, unconsciously fingering the hanging chain. "That is why I am here. Because the Master thinks this is serious."

Cresta just blinks at the woman, lost in her accented speech and completely missing the context for her words. Master? What master?

Now the woman steps closer. "May I?" she asks and then she reaches for Cresta's left hand. The odd gesture is not a handshake and Cresta doesn't know what to do, so she lets the woman take her hand in hers and watches frowning as the Twi'lek inspects her palm. "Not yet, then," the woman says and Cresta doesn't know what to make of this observation. Then her visitor looks Cresta in the eye as she speaks, "Be careful about Palpatine. Be careful about the Master too. They are not who they pretend to be."

Cresta is lost in her words. "I don't understand." She doesn't want to be rude to this woman who is obviously someone important, but what was that thing with her hand and what the Hell is she saying about Sheev? And just how does she claim to know this?

"I didn't have any choice with mine, Cresta Cole. And he treats me good. The best of any of my owners. He even calls himself my husband. But you are a talented girl who is going places. And you are free so you have choices. You should find another man, a good man. The Master and Sheev Palpatine are not good men."

Who and Sheev are not good men? Cresta is bewildered by what this woman is saying. And who is this woman's husband? "I don't understand."

"He has not told you then?"

"I don't understand," Cresta repeats a third time.

"You will," the strange lady tells her. It sounds like a warning. "You will. Thank you again for your lovely dancing tonight." Then she slinks away in a trail of navy silk and a cloud of perfume, leaving Cresta confused and unsettled.

She runs into the General Director on the way out of the theatre. And before Cresta can ask about her Twi'lek visitor, he beats her to it. "That old gal is something, isn't she? Dresses like a queen but speaks Basic like a hick."

"Who is she? She's . . . odd."

"Yes, she is very hard to understand," her boss agrees and that makes Cresta feel a bit better about the conversation. Perhaps she has misunderstood because some of the meaning of the woman's words were lost in translation. And in that horrible accent.

"She's a longstanding patron from the Rim. She comes to Coruscant a few times a year to go shopping and she always sees whatever performance we're doing at the time." He shoots Cresta a sharp look. "Madame Pilar is quite generous to us. I hope you were polite to her."

"Of course," she hastens to reassure. "Who is her husband?" Cresta is wondering who this 'master' person is.

Her boss just shrugs. "I assumed she is a widow. If there is a husband, I have never seen him. She's always with those guards." He slants Cresta a glance and raises his eyebrow. "Do you know who they are?" he asks in a tone that indicates that he does.

Cresta shakes her head no.

"Those are Sun Guards. That is serious security, Cresta. Whoever she is, she's important to someone who is very important."

"Huh." Cresta resolves to tell Sheev about the cryptic Twi'lek lady but it's ten days before she sees him again and then they only have about twenty minutes total and there isn't time. By the time Cresta remembers to tell Sheev, they are kissing goodbye and Sheev is already late for his transport. And, really, it's not important.


	6. Chapter 6

Coruscant's Indian Summer gives way to fall and with it comes change. On this city planet, there is no harvest to reap and no colorful foliage to admire. But there is change all the same. Political change. The Eternal City has long been the seat of power for the Galactic Republic, and every few years the Republic renews itself with a vigorous exercise in democracy: an election. A new Senate and a new Supreme Chancellor are imminent. Only a few weeks now until the fate of the future will be decided by trillions of well-intentioned people.

And only two men know it, but this election will usher in more change than anyone comprehends. For into their midst, the Senators will welcome a newcomer who is the stealth harbinger of tyranny. He is the single cancerous cell that over years will slowly metastasize. The unnoticed parasite that in time will grow to kill its host. He is the spark that will kindle the flame that will consume a civilization in Darkness. All hail the secret Sith who will bring down a thousand years of peace and prosperity. And here's the delicious irony of it all—this Republic will fall by democratic process, through free and fair elections, to a man who is (mostly) open and notorious, and commended by all.

Many, many things will occur between now and then. And hindsight will reveal missed opportunities to right the course of history along the way. But when the dust settles and the winners and losers are tallied, all agree that the beginning of the end began now. For once more the Sith shall rule the galaxy. And the first Sith to do it will soon be elected.

But before this Sith betrays others, he himself is first betrayed. And, of course, it is by one of his own. Like so many of the secrets of the Sith, the act is known to only a few, but its consequences will be felt by many for years to come. Here is the decision that will begin the rift that will raise an Empire, topple the Republic and exterminate the Jedi. But, most importantly, the rift will keep a young slave boy who will first be Jedi and then be Sith from meeting his father until it is far too late. And so the magical clan whose birthright is the galaxy will waste not one, but two generations. Ultimately, it falls to the grandson to finish what his grandfather and his grandfather's father should have started. But could not.

All because years from now a long suffering Sheev Palpatine will light his sword and strike true. The Force is with him that night even if his killing blow does not kill. This vengeful Sith is angry for many reasons, but the first and foremost of them all is a woman scorned.

* * *

The corps de ballet girls share dressing rooms backstage in groups of six, but Cresta is the last one to leave tonight because she took extra time to warm down. She's still in costume and full makeup, but she has taken off the Twi'lek tentacle headdress she wore through most of the third act. Portraying the corps as a group of dancing Twi'lek girls is sort of a tried and true trope in classical dance. And it's a cliche that can be sort of a pain in the neck-literally. Tonight's headdress had been very heavy.

Another dancer ducks her head in the open door to the dressing room. "Cresta, there's some guy looking for you."

She grins at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Sheev! He had sent her a message that he was arriving tonight. Cresta hurries to grab a tissue to wipe off the deep red lipstick she still wears from tonight's performance. Sheev always greets her with a kiss and, well, he'll be wearing this lip stain all night if he catches her with this much of it on.

Cresta looks up with a happy smile as she hears a knock. But it's not Sheev. It's a giant Muun. And, hey, isn't this that Muun guy who Sheev had introduced her to months ago? If not, it's some dude who looks a lot like him.

"H-hello?" Her greeting ends up, more like a question than a statement. Now, as back then, this man makes her feel self-conscious. Like she is being appraised. Cresta bristles. "Yes?" she prompts the uninvited stranger.

"Cresta Cole." He says her name slowly, gravely. The tone tells her this will not be a pleasant conversation. Now, Cresta has a bad feeling about this.

"Yes," she confirms as she turns to stand and face him. What is this guy's name again? She forgets. So she asks. "Who are you again?"

He evades the question. "An admirer. You are very talented." The words are said matter of fact, without enthusiasm. More like an observation than a compliment. And nothing about this man's manner is friendly.

"Thank you," Cresta replies stiffly, wondering what this is all about. This Muun is clearly not here to discuss the performance.

"We have a mutual friend in Sheev Palpatine," he says as he steps into the room and shuts the door.

Yes, she remembers. This guy is backing Sheev's campaign. But what does this have to do with her? Her mind is on edge but Cresta outwardly raises an eyebrow and acts bored. Two can play at this game of caginess. "Oh?"

The Muun is unimpressed. "Don't play coy. It doesn't suit you. We both know you're not the innocent you pretend to be." Then he reaches into a pocket of his princely dark robe and pulls out a credit card. He places it face up on the cluttered vanity in front of her. Cresta glances down. Then again for a better look. The amount showing on the card is considerable.

"What's this?"

"What it looks like," he replies dryly.

Cresta is confused. She's received flowers from ballet fans before and the occasional note of praise for her work. But no one has ever given her a credit card before. She only gets credit cards at the strip club. And they are never in an amount that covers two months' rent. Cresta picks up the card and frowns at it. "Is this from Sheev?"

"No. It is from me. I thought I would save myself the indignity of meeting you at your other place of employment to tuck it in your thong, Crystal."

Cresta sucks in a breath. Then she raises surprised and hostile eyes to the Muun. She's done with the small talk now. It's time to speak plainly. "What do you want?"

He ignores her glare and keeps speaking in that slow, unfolding way of his. "You will see Sheev Palpatine tonight for one last night to say goodbye. And then you will never see him again."

The Hell she will. What's it to this guy if she sees Sheev? "I don't understand." It's the truth. Cresta doesn't understand.

"Oh, but I think you do," the Muun retorts. "You're used to taking credits in exchange for favors, aren't you?"

"No deal!" Cresta tries to hand the credit card back to him, but he won't take it. And the warning look he gives Cresta makes her pause. "Why?" she demands hotly. Who does this guy think he is that he can order her around and buy her off like this? Cresta is fast getting riled up.

But the Muun is very calm. "Because you are a distraction to him at a time when he should be focused on other things. And because you are an unacceptable risk when he is running for the Senate. Sheev Palpatine cannot ever be known to have any connection with a prostitute. Your relationship with him ends tonight."

Cresta's mind is racing and she asks in a small voice. "He's married, isn't he? Is that what this is all about? Sheev lied to me and he's married . . . " Her voice trails off in confusion and doubt.

The Muun doesn't answer. Instead, he produces a datapad that he hands to her. Instantly, Cresta recognizes the picture. It's a mugshot. Now this encounter is getting even more bewildering. And threatening.

Her visitor gestures to the mugshot and speaks with a cool detachment. "Arrested for armed robbery at age nineteen. The judge must have thought his harsh sentence to be justified due to his long history of juvenile delinquency."

Cresta says nothing. She just looks at the picture of the young man who looks so much like her.

"It was a violent crime, and so it is appropriate that your brother is housed with other violent criminals. Those men are a lawless bunch. Did you know that every so often they riot? And now and then, someone gets jumped in the prison yard. Every year on average ten men die in that prison. It would be a shame if your brother were to be among those ten this year."

Cresta swallows hard, still staring at her brother's picture in one hand and the credit card of cash in the other. She holds both the threat and the inducement. The carrot and the stick. And, yes, now Cresta understands. Perfectly.

"You may have one final night tonight with Sheev. Use it to part ways. Then tomorrow you will vacate the apartment he rents for you. After tonight, if I learn that you have seen him, that you have sent him messages or attempted to contact him in any way, your brother dies. And if Sheev attempts to contact you or to see you, you will rebuff him. For if I discover that this relationship continues, your brother dies. Do we understand each other?"

"Who the Hell are you to threaten me?" she demands hotly. Who the fuck is this Muun?

"Someone who is very interested in the Naboo Senate election. This is not just another election and Sheev Palpatine will not be just another Senator. There is no room in his future for a woman like you. For a fatherless undereducated stripper whore from the Mid Rim with a felon brother and a mother who lives off public assistance." The Muun's words are biting even though his tone is nonchalant. This man has a way of saying devastating things in a casual, offhand way. And Cresta is undone by his easy disdain.

Now, his voice is slower, lower and altogether more intimate. As if they are friends and he is sharing an inside joke with her instead of threatening her family. "You are a liability. If you care for Sheev, if you want him to achieve all that he is capable of, you will let him go. It would never work in the long term. You are from two different worlds and you are moving in different directions. The nobler course is for you to give Sheev up before you ruin his future and drag him down into the gutter with you."

"You can't do this!" Cresta lashes out.

"Yes, my dear, I can. I can do all this and more. I know where you live and where you work. I know where your mother lives and where she works. We can do this the hard way, if you wish. But I would much prefer if you and I reached an accord here tonight. Now, do we understand each other?"

Cresta hesitates, bitterly frustrated and quite shocked by this turn of events. How can she do this? It will break her heart. And Sheev's too.

"Keep the datapad in case you need a reminder of what is at stake. This arrangement is just between us, my dear. If Sheev learns of this conversation, we will have to do things the hard way. I think you might regret that later."

Cresta already knows her answer. But still she can't bear to form the words. Can she do this? She doesn't think she can do this.

"Move on with your life," the Muun tells her. "Forget you ever knew Sheev Palpatine." Then he raises his eyebrows and looks at her expectantly.

Cresta hangs her head, still staring down at the mugshot. She hasn't seen her brother in years. But he's still her brother.

"Well?"

"Yes." It comes out as a whisper. So Cresta repeats herself and now it comes out as a sob. "Yes."

* * *

Sheev's transport is late so Cresta is already waiting for him in the hotel lobby when he arrives. She has wiped off the stage makeup and taken down her hair and she's regular Cresta in her dance togs. But something is up. He's picking up anxiety and fear radiating from her in the Force and that's very unusual. Plus, she doesn't greet him with her usual smile and kiss.

"What's wrong? Did something happen tonight?" Cresta doesn't respond, and that tells him something is definitely up. Sheev walks forward and puts a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Come up to the room," he says in a low voice. "You can tell me there."

When they are upstairs alone, Cresta brushes off his concern. "It's nothing, really. Just a bad performance tonight."

The Force tells him this is a lie, but he says nothing. He sets his datapad to charge and walks over to take her in his arms. Cresta melts into him, sagging in relief for a moment. He strokes her hair, half expecting her to cry. Cresta seems so on edge tonight from whatever is bothering her. He wishes she would share it with him.

But she doesn't, so Sheev starts talking about the election. It's all good news. Maybe this will cheer her up. "My poll numbers are rising again. Early voting is over now and those exit polls were heavily in my favor. It's pretty clear that I should win, Cresta. I'm going to win and then I'll be here in Coruscant full time. We will have more time together finally."

When she doesn't reply, Sheev pulls back and looks down at her. "It won't be long now," he promises as he smooths a lock of hair back from her cheek. "Soon, we will be together, Cresta. Just like we talked about." But, still she does not smile. Why is she so nervous? She's practically shaking in his arms.

"Kiss me," she tells him as she reaches up to pull his head down. "Kiss me, Sheev."

And the moment their lips meet, he senses her hunger for him. She wants him tonight with something akin to desperation. And if this is the comfort she needs, then Sheev is prepared to give it to her. Because damn, she feels so good in his arms. He buries his hands deep in her hair, tipping her head back as he devours her mouth. It's been eight days since he has touched her and that's far too long.

Is that her moaning or is it him? It's her. Gods, his Cresta is hot for him tonight. Her hands slip up under the neck of his tunic, reaching to unbutton it. "Easy, Red, let me help," he tells her, and in seconds his clothes hit the floor and he is stripped bare to the waist. Cresta shrugs out of her oversized jacket and now Sheev has his thumbs under the wide shoulders of her leotard, peeling it down to her waist and snatching off that lacy bralette thing she wears. He wants to feel her skin against his. Those perfect small breasts of hers are pushed up against his chest now as he grinds his hips into hers. And, oh Gods, how he wants this woman. He has never waited for any woman, but he has waited for Cresta.

She reaches down to stroke him through his clothes and it threatens to unman him. He's like a teenager ready to pop off at her slightest caress. Sheev is so fucking hard and she is so amazingly perfect and he wants her. Oh, how he wants his Red. He had promised himself that he wouldn't pressure her, but somehow tonight that promise evaporates now that they are both half naked. Sheev Palpatine is reduced to begging and he doesn't care. For tonight he wants more than just a blowjob. He wants it all.

"Don't make me wait any longer." He gasps out the words between frantic kisses. Her soft hair is everywhere about her shoulders brushing up against his skin. "Let me love you . . . please."

"Yes. Yes." She too is gasping. And now she breaks away to step back. He watches silently as she finishes pulling down her leotard and tights. She has kicked off her boots and his Cresta stands before him wearing only her black thong. Are they doing this? Really doing this? Fuck, he thinks they are finally doing this.

Sheev meets her eyes, wanting to be certain. "Cresta, are you sure?"

"Yes," she nods even as her eyes look wary. Maybe this is what has her so on edge tonight. She's nervous about their first time together. He knows his Cresta doesn't have much experience with real sex. She nods again and looks endearingly determined. "Let's do this. Now."

He doesn't have to be told twice. Sheev unbuckles and unzips and now he's more bare than she is.

Cresta dives to grab something out of the pocket of her jacket and thrust it at him. "Here put this on," she whispers as she pulls him down for a kiss.

Really? Nah, he doesn't want that. He tosses the condom to the ground. "No, baby," he tells her between kisses. "Not with you. You're no whore."

"But Sheev—"

His hands are sliding down her thong. He wants no barriers between them. No clothes and no anything. Just he and Cresta. That's the way it's supposed to be between lovers. This is no casual fuck that he needs protection for. "I know where you've been," he soothes as he walks her back to the bed. "I trust you. I know you're clean."

But still, she bristles. She pulls back to perch on the edge of the bed and frowns up at him. "Yeah, well what about where you have been?"

But he just steps forward and lays her back. He's leaning over her now, his hands laced in hers as he trails kisses down her chest, licking at her nipple. "I've been nowhere without that. I'm clean, Red, I promise. And you know I'm so big that it won't fit." It's true. He's not boasting. Sheev Palpatine has an enormous dick. The rest of him might not be big, but that part is. And condoms feel so confining.

"I want this to be special," he cajoles her. This isn't just talk. Sheev has never cared about a woman before. For the first time, sex is going to mean something. And it comes with added pressure because he wants to make it good for her. He's got to outdo that dead boyfriend of hers.

Maybe his words are wearing her down or maybe it's his body that is persuading her, but Cresta is writhing beneath him now. And he's rubbing himself against that hot slick silky cunt of hers. Fuck, if she feels this amazing on the outside, he can't wait to be inside. "Put it on, Sheev, put it on . . . " Cresta's voice is husky with need. "Let's go. Put it on and give it to me."

That's all he needs to hear. He positions himself and then slowly works his way inside. Normally, he would just ram himself home, but he doesn't want to hurt his Cresta. His second time virgin needs a moment to adjust to him. There, he's wedged in fully. And, oh Gods, does she feel hot and tight.

"Oh!" It's part gasp, part whimper, part wail. Cresta's eyes are wide and staring back at him. Her mouth is a round oh of surprise. "Oh, Sheev!"

He's pleased at having awed her so. Bet the dead guy didn't do that. "Relax, baby. Give it a moment."

"Sheev—did you put it on?" She's still harping on him about the condom.

"I'm in now," he tells her as he tentatively starts to move. Watching her closely for signs of discomfort as he strokes in and out of her. "It's too late." And, oh yeah, this is everything he had hoped it would be. And from the look on Cresta's face, she thinks so too.

But then she's back to harping on him. "Fuck, Sheev, don't you get me pregnant!"

"Don't worry. If you get pregnant, I'll marry you, Red."

He will, too. Because any girl who feels this good is worth marrying. And then he can fuck her night after night after night. He's thrusting in hard now, rocking his body and hers with the effort. Tipping up to find that spot high and inside that drives girls wild. One thing's for sure—he's going to make Cresta come. He's not going to stop until she's screaming with pleasure. So he grits his teeth and prays that he will be able to last. Because tonight is more for her than for him.

Those gorgeous legs of hers are wrapped around his hips. His face is buried in the puddle of red hair beside her neck. And he keeps going. He senses her body tensing and he smiles, doubling down on the friction. Yeah, that's the right spot, that's the right angle. Not every girl can come from just his deep dicking, but he's going to make sure that Cresta can. She's grunting now with each thrust and then there it is, her keening wail of release. And she's spasming and gushing all over him and he can't hold back any longer either. With a growl of triumph, he spends himself completely in her.

He lingers on top of her, his body covering hers, his arms clasping her to him. He wants to hold on to the moment just a little longer. Then he kisses her gently and rolls off. They are side by side on the bed staring up at the ceiling as he confesses quietly, "I think I love you, Red. I think I've loved you for months now."

Cresta says nothing but he can almost hear her thoughts screaming at him in the Force. _I love you too._ And that's good enough for Sheev. She doesn't have to say the words out loud. Besides, he knows that she loves him. She wouldn't have slept with him unless she loved him.

Sheev grabs for her hand now as he sits up to look down on her. Cresta looks so lovely flushed pink from their lovemaking, her vivid hair strewn wild to cover one breast. She looks so wanton and yet so wholesome at the same time. And that's so perfectly Cresta that it makes him grin.

"Let's get married," he decides on the spot. "Tomorrow. Let's get married. You can still dance but I'll take you away from the clubs. You will be a Senator's wife now. My wife."

Cresta blinks up at him. He has surprised her. And, well, he has surprised himself too. But it feels right and he's not taking it back. He looks down at her and nods his encouragement. And for a moment, Cresta looks like she might cry. His girl is moved to tears by his proposal. So, yes, she loves him. It's so clear looking at her now that she loves him.

But in true Cresta form, she answers with a smart remark. "Am I that good in bed?"

"Yes." He grins. "But seriously, Cresta. Marry me. I will take care of you. You'll be legit like you always wanted. And you won't ever have to worry about money again. Say yes, Red, and we will be together forever."

The more he thinks about this marriage idea, the more appealing it gets. He's plenty old enough, she is too. And they both have jobs and a bright future and he's got the whole Palpatine fortune tucked away to fall back on if they ever need it. His Master won't care—he's got a wife of his own, doesn't he? The Sith have no prohibitions on attachment.

Cresta's clearly thinking about it too and she looks a bit scared. "Uh . . . Sheev, I thought you never wanted to get married."

It's true, he hadn't wanted a wife. But that was before he met Cresta. Now, things are different. "That was until I fell in love with you. Cresta, I have things to tell you. There are things you should know about me first—"

"Sheev," she sits up and raises her hand to his lips. "Stop talking." She's smiling now and that reassures him. He hadn't liked that scared look on her face. "You politicians love to talk. Stop talking and kiss me."

He complies with enthusiasm. And then he gets back to the topic at hand. "Is that a yes?"

"That's a yes to round two. Now kiss me, Sheev."

"But, Red—"

"Uhmmm . . . we'll figure out all the details in the morning. Just love me. Tonight, just love me."

Hours later, he wakes from a deep and restful sleep. His body thoroughly satisfied at long last and his heart full. Cresta has gotten up, and that surprises him because his girl is such a night owl. Used to being up all night at the clubs and sleeping in. She's never the first one to wake, he remembers from their five days spent together months ago.

Sheev meant what he said last night. They're going to get married today. Fuck his day of meetings. They'll play hooky and he'll buy her a pretty dress and take her to the courthouse to make it legal. Then, he'll get his campaign manager to send out a press release with the photo of them together at the Ballet opening. The newsfeeds on Naboo might pick it up as a human interest story and it will show another side of him to voters. He'll look relatable and responsible now that he has settled down. And after all, doesn't everyone love a wedding? Especially one with a beautiful young bride. It will be an elopement—and that's romantic too-because who plans a big wedding when they are the sole surviving member of their family and they're in the middle of a political campaign. Yeah . . . he should get some good press from this.

And the next full moon, they will slash hands and marry as Sith. And then Cresta will be his forever and nothing but death will part them. Darth Sidious will have his Lady Sidious.

"Cresta?" Where is she? Sheev is ready for round three. It's morning and he has woken up hard as usual. So the honeymoon starts now, as far as he's concerned. He wanders over to check his datapad. Then he calls again, "Cresta?"

Huh? Where is she? He's groggy still, so it takes effort to concentrate a moment to sense her in the Force. Sheev blinks and yawns. He must be really groggy this morning, because he doesn't sense Cresta at all. Where is she? He steps over his pile of discarded clothes and wanders into the bathroom. "Red?"

And that's when Sheev sees it. The scrawl of lipstick that covers the large mirror. Red lipstick from her stage makeup.

 _I don't love you. I found someone else. Tonight was goodbye_.

He just stands there. Stunned.


	7. Chapter 7

_So, as you probably guessed (or maybe remembered from the hints dropped in Fifth Wife and Fulcrum Part Two), there is an unplanned pregnancy in this story. This chapter could trigger you for your own experiences or your beliefs. I am not making a moral or political statement here. I am trying to be true to Cresta's character. Each of my Sith ladies faces this issue along the way. The lonely rape victim Rey makes her choice before Fulcrum begins, Shan the good Jedi who is not enthused about motherhood makes her choice in Fifth Wife, and now Cresta will make hers._

Sheev Palpatine is an emotional Sith and so he is used to channeling the rush of intense feelings, especially pain. But still, the aftermath of waking to Cresta's rejection overwhelms him.

Why did she do this to him?

How could she do this to him?

He has no explanation whatsoever. For he had not seen this coming.

For months now she has seduced his soul and finally last night she seduced his body. And then left him bereft and alone with her unsatisfactory explanation written in a scrawl of lipstick. It is a bitter betrayal worthy of a Sith, and Sheev feels a trusting fool for having been her victim. He, of all people, should have known better.

So he trashes the hotel room with his saber and explodes the mirror bearing her goodbye with the Force. Then Sheev sits amid the broken glass and the mess. And he cries. For more than anything, he feels loss. Yes, there is anger and confusion and a pressing need for answers, but mostly there is soul crushing sadness for all that he had hoped his Cresta might be for him.

He deserves an explanation. So he sends her an angry message, but she ignores it. She doesn't answer her com either. And when Sheev stops by her apartment that afternoon before he departs Coruscant, it is empty and all traces of Cresta are gone. He doesn't have time to drop by the Ballet or the club. And Sheev knows she's not there. She clearly doesn't want to be found.

And, truthfully, that's a bit of a relief. Sheev isn't sure what he would say to Cresta if he found her. And he worries that in his current state he just might kill her. So he takes a lesson from his Muun Master and decides to compartmentalize. He will deal with Cresta in due time. But for now, he will focus on the task at hand.

There is an election to win and these are the final three weeks of his campaign. His handlers have booked him solid day and night until the ballots are cast. And dutifully, he goes through the motions, shaking hands, making speeches, slapping backs, kissing babies and smiling. Endlessly smiling as the genial good-natured public figure he pretends to be. But inside Sheev is seething and hurt and there is no outlet to vent his rage.

He wins the election handily and his Master is well pleased. Darth Plagueis is even moved to compliment him. And from across Naboo, Sheev receives endless congratulations on his victory. Winning the election should feel like a personal and professional triumph. But privately Sheev feels only loss. Young fool that he is, only now at the end does he understand that he had wanted Cresta as much, maybe more, than the Senate seat. There was always going to be another election. But there will never be another Cresta.

Where did he go wrong? He asks himself this again and again as the days bleed on into weeks. Yes, he hadn't had the time to give Cresta enough attention, but he thought she had understood. It was only going to be until after the election. Then, things would be different. But she hadn't waited for him. She had cheated on him. Just like that dead guy had once cheated on her.

Sheev feels like a lovesick fool for naively having believed he had found a diamond in the rough. For stupidly having fallen for the faithless stripper bitch. It was wishful thinking to believe that she could one day truly understand and love the Sith that he is. Had Cresta been secretly laughing at him as he proposed marriage and professed love? Those are two things this Sith had never expected to do, but he did them for her. He had even been ready to slash her hand in the moonlight and marry her forever in the Force. That's how ridiculously, imprudently in love he had been.

Now that the election is over and he is back in Coruscant, Sheev contemplates confronting her for an explanation. Storming into a dance rehearsal or barging into the club for an ugly public scene. But Sheev can't take any more of her rejection. Because then he might snap and lose control and use the Force and reveal himself to others. And then there would be Hell to pay with his Master.

So Sheev stays away.

It helps that he is incredibly busy kicking off his Senate career. Sheev's days are a long blur of faces and meetings followed by appearances at lobbyist receptions. From the early morning breakfast meetings until he collapses exhausted into bed in his new Upper Level apartment, Sheev ruthlessly focuses on his work. Pushing aside memories of the redhead who had kissed him like she meant it and made love to him like there was no tomorrow. And, well, as it turns out, there had been no tomorrow for them.

Sheev soon discovers that being a young, single junior Senator makes him a very eligible bachelor. Women routinely throw themselves at him now. And really, where's the fun in that? He's a Sith, so he's all about plotting the chase. He wants to be the aggressor, not the other way around.

These girls are other Senators' daughters, legislative staffers and lobbyists. They are camera ready at all times with manicured fingers and coordinated outfits they never seem to wear twice. Not like Cresta who he had only seen in a black thong, sweaty black leotards and that same black dress over and over again. Each of these girls speaks articulately in careful sound bites on any topic, from pod racing to the persistent poverty of the Outer Rim. They are the true believers of galactic politics, capable of quoting him chapter and verse of the party platform. But it's a lot of boring dogma. His Cresta, like Sheev himself at heart, doesn't have any strong political leanings. She's more pragmatic than anything. And he's in it purely for the game of power.

Maybe he should be fucking a different one of these generic girls every night to help him forget Cresta. But he doesn't. These girls are so contrived and predictable that they bore him. There is nothing sexy about all their calculated, focus group approved wholesomeness. He's a secret Sith Senator, so his entire life is calculated. He doesn't want more of it. He wants an escape from it.

None of these girls would slide up next to him in a booth in Coruscant's best restaurant and give him a handjob under the tablecloth. And none of these girls would share a joint of spice with him outside the Jedi Temple late at night and talk about nothing. These women can't give him a private lap dance and they don't say fuck every other sentence. He doubts that any of them have ever ventured outside their insular Upper Level life. It's not that there is anything wrong with these women. It's just that they aren't Cresta. His refreshingly candid, completely unself-consciously real, Cresta.

But a few nights a week he squires these girls around town to events. They are appropriate arm candy for the evening and nothing more. And his Master watching from afar no doubt approves. Sheev doesn't even bother to try to bed them. One gorgeous blonde is offended that he ignores her most of the night. She has the gall to ask him if he's gay-not that anything is wrong with that-she adds in an automatic reflexive political correctness. Sheev shouts with laughter at this ridiculousness. I'm just not that into you, he tells the blonde with a tight smile. Plus, you're a little fat. It's the ultimate insult to this class of woman, and Sheev thoroughly enjoys saying it.

Two months later, Sheev Palpatine of Naboo stands with the rest of the new class of freshman Senators at the inaugural convocation for the new Senate term. He can't help thinking that he wishes Cresta were here to see this. These are the first steps. Everyone starts somewhere, and Sheev Palpatine's rise to power starts today. But it starts alone. His Master is here, of course, but it's not the same.

So standing afterwards shaking hands and watching the other Senators take pictures with their proud families, Sheev decides that he will kill her. Since he can't seem to get over Cresta, he will handle this like he handled his father and the rest of his family. He will kill her and be done with it, leaving behind all the hurt of her rejection so he can move forward. Whatever lingering pain her death causes him will only fuel his Darkness. He's a Sith, so whatever doesn't kill him, makes him stronger.

But first, he has to find her. Cresta is officially and mysteriously "on leave" from the Ballet, whatever that means. She hasn't been seen dancing at her usual club lately either. So where the fuck is she? Hiding from him still.

Sheev starts haunting the upscale strip clubs in the glossy Uscru District afterhours, but she's nowhere to be found. So he ventures down to the gritty Lower Level Underworld. But still no success. Maybe her new guy is supporting her now and Cresta doesn't need to club dance anymore? Perhaps she has she gone back to her forgettable Mid Rim homeworld? Or maybe she went to Alderaan to take those principal dancer roles she always talked about? He's a Senator now and he doesn't have the time to chase her off Coruscant. So Sheev gives up for now.

But politics is a dirty business and the media is even worse. Sheev's midnight adventures have been noticed. He has been photographed in the clubs and the pictures are leaked to the tabloids. 'Young Senator in Sex Scandal' the headlines scream. "Naboo Senator Caught at the Strip Club' is the holonet clickbait de jour. He's not doing anything incriminating or illegal in the pictures, he contends to his irate Master. He's just sitting there. But that's enough to write a sensational story for the newsfeeds. And it's enough to embarrass him before his constituents, anger his supporters, and frustrate the disapproving Muun enough for him to bust out the blue lightning.

You need a higher class of woman, his fastidious Master tells him bluntly as he stands over Sheev's smoking, Force-fried body. Stop acting like a frat boy and act like a Senator. The public expects better of you and so do I. You risk your future and you risk our plans when you are caught in a place like that. Go find another respectable girl like the ballerina who dumped you. Someone who will be a credit to you and who will enhance your public profile. Someone presentable and well spoken. Someone who might be wife material one day.

"I'm never getting married," the still defiant Sheev scowls at the very thought.

"Of course you will," the Muun waves away this assertion. "When the time comes, I will choose you an excellent First Lady."

* * *

When someone important leaves your life, suddenly there is time on your hands. The stolen hours Cresta and Sheev had spent together are suddenly free. The datapad messages she compulsively checked no longer come. The random quick calls just to say hello have stopped. And there is no one to check in with or be accountable to anymore. No upcoming visit to look forward to.

There is just a void where once there had been them.

It is both a relief and a disappointment that Sheev accepts it without argument. He doesn't blowup her datapad and her com with demands for an explanation. He never shows up angry at her work. He is just . . . silent.

They simply end.

This breakup is worse than Simon's death. Because that had been abruptly final. She had to accept that Simon was dead and to move on. There were no 'what if' possibilities to imagine. No fantasies of chance meetings and tearful reconciliations. Her Sheev is alive and she knows where to find him and how to reach him. For she still obsessively follows his whereabouts on the Naboo political newsfeeds and his campaign press releases.

She dare not contact him. But still, the temptation remains.

So heartbroken, angry and guilty Cresta cries herself to sleep night after night. Things can't get any worse, she thinks. But yes, they can. Because two weeks later Cresta discovers that she is pregnant. And that is the worst possible news.

You can't dance in the corps de ballet when you're pregnant. Your body is not up to the rigors of elite dance when you are vomiting twice a day, swollen with hormones that separate your bones, and your center of balance keeps shifting with your increasing waistline. And there is no way to hide even a little baby bump on the lithe, compact frame of a ballerina.

You can't dance in the strip clubs when you're visibly pregnant either. For there's nothing sexy about a pregnant belly to a man who isn't the father. At least at the Ballet, Cresta wears a black leotard. At the club, she dons a black thong. It's even less forgiving.

Suddenly, her future is very daunting. Cresta is back living in a rented room on the Lower Levels now. She uses the credit card from the Muun as her security deposit and what little money she had saved up this summer is going fast. Without Sheev's help, Cresta had struggled to make it on her own on Coruscant. And that had been with dancing at the Ballet and in the clubs. There's no way she can make it on her own with a kid. It's an ugly truth, but she has to face it.

If she keeps this baby, then every dream Cresta has ever had will be gone. She'll have to leave Coruscant. Wherever she lands, she's going to become her mother all over again. Just another struggling single mom who works too hard and still can't get ahead. And then one day despite all her efforts, maybe this baby will grow up to be like her brother in jail. His life wasted and her sacrifices rendered meaningless. It's a depressing thought.

Fuck this, Cresta thinks. I have worked too hard to watch everything slip away. I can't do this alone. I shouldn't have to do this alone.

But this is by far the biggest decision of her life. And she can't decide what to do. She wonders whether Sheev would have been happy about the baby. Because somehow that seems to matter a great deal for this decision. It's his baby too, after all. She knows that Sheev would have married her, like he said. Especially if he knew she were pregnant. What would life have been like married to a Senator? Cresta will never know.

She spends another few weeks fantasizing about how maybe Sheev will show up and demand an explanation. And then Cresta will tell him everything and he will understand and forgive. Then he will reassure her that he's a Senator now and he can fix problems like this. That her brother will be safe and they will get married and raise the baby as a family. Everything will be okay. It's a fairytale, Cresta knows, but she irrationally clings to it all the same. Until it's her ninth week and she can no longer button her pants. That's when Cresta searches the holonet for the address to the Lower Level clinic she's heard about from the other club dancers.

Because fuck this, she thinks. I'm not going to do this alone. I'm not going to do this at all.

The morning she makes the clinic appointment is the same morning Cresta sits in the public gallery for the opening of the new Senate term. She watches the swearing-in of the new Senators. It's a stupid thing, but she does it anyway. Part of her feels like she has to at least give Sheev some sort of chance to see her before she goes through with it. Because it's his child too.

But it's not much of a chance because Cresta can barely see Sheev from the nosebleed level seat she's in. For certain, he won't be able to see her. But his image is projected for all to see on the large jumbotron screen. Her Sheev is not much to look at. He's not particularly handsome and he is slight with thinning red hair. But there's an intensity about him that is so compelling and magnetic. And she loves his impish rebellious streak. Today, viewed through the eyes of love as he speaks the words the little green Jedi Master feeds to him, Sheev Palpatine looks like the most dashing man in the galaxy to Cresta.

 _I, Sheev Palpatine of Naboo, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the Galactic Republic against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of Senator of the Galactic Republic._

His spoken oath of office is over in a few seconds. Then the presiding Jedi Master bows to Sheev and wishes him 'May the Force be with you.' Sheev acknowledges the bow with his own and the camera catches his satisfied smile.

It makes Cresta happy to see Sheev achieve his dream, but it makes her feel more alone than ever. She doesn't bother to sit through the rest of the speeches. Cresta has seen what she came to see. So she grabs her bag and wraps her boxy jacket tightly around her as she heads out.

She is waiting for the elevator with a crowd of other people when it opens to reveal the scary Muun who had threatened her in her dressing room. The one who had backed Sheev's campaign. She'd know that long, grey face anywhere. Their eyes lock and the look he gives Cresta is terrifying. In the moment, his eyes look strangely yellow, like an animal and not a person. Cresta blinks and then takes off for the stairs at a run, not daring to look back.

Over the next few days, Cresta borrows ten credits from every girl she knows, at the Ballet and at the club. She tells everyone that she's behind on her rent. The lie falls easier from her lips the more she says it. She scrapes together just enough.

She presents herself at the clinic at the appointed time. It's a nondescript place and thankfully there are no protesters standing outside. Just a lone woman who eyes Cresta thoughtfully. She must be a security guard.

This is the right thing to do, Cresta encourages herself out loud before she enters. Sometimes there are no good choices, but you still have to choose. The security guard woman overhears her and Cresta flushes. With embarrassment and, yes, with shame.

Fuck! She hates that she is in this position.

Cresta has spent all morning mustering her courage so it is bitterly frustrating to learn that she cannot have the procedure today. By law, Coruscant requires a three day waiting period, a sympathetic nurse tells her. And since you're still early on, we can't bend the rules. Cresta nods her understanding, but still she starts to cry. She's disappointed and relieved and frustrated all at once. Plus, she's pregnant, so she's hormonal too. Three more days, the motherly nurse tries to console her. Just three more days and then it will be over until we see you again next time.

Cresta is wiping away tears as she exits the building. The security guard woman is still there and this time she approaches.

"Hey, are you okay?"

No. "Yeah."

"You don't have to do this, you know. There are other options."

Cresta shakes her head. "I don't have a choice." And then she repeats her mantra. "This is the right thing to do."

"Your baby is strong with the Force," the woman says quietly.

"Don't call it a baby." Please don't call it a baby. Call it a fetus and call this a medical procedure and let me lie to myself, Cresta thinks. And don't shame me. Please don't shame me.

"Your daughter is strong with the Force," the woman repeats. "I can help you."

"D-d-daughter?" Cresta stammers. She didn't need to know that.

"I can help you."

"You can't help me," Cresta wipes away more tears. You can't help me. And you don't know a thing about me, she thinks. Where I'm from, who I am and why I'm here. Stop judging me.

"What's your name?"

Cresta doesn't answer. She just looks away. She doesn't have to explain herself to this woman, but she does anyway. And again, it comes out as a pep talk to convince herself. "Look, I'm in a bad situation. So I'm ending it and moving on."

The security guard woman moves closer. "I'm a Jedi. I can help you."

Cresta is dubious. "Yeah, then where's your lightsaber?" The woman pulls out her sword that Cresta had mistaken for a blaster strapped to her side. Well, whatever. "I thought the Jedi were peacekeeping heroes. I didn't know they stood guard outside abortion clinics."

"I'm not a guard. I'm a volunteer," the woman says in her quiet way. "And I am a hero. Because if you let me, I will help you and I will save your daughter."

And that is how a week later, Cresta finds herself living in a small group home for unwed expectant mothers. The Jedi will feed her, house her and provide her medical care for the duration of her pregnancy. In exchange, Cresta will agree to give them her child at birth.

It's a compromise and, like most compromises, it's dissatisfying. And it takes some time for Cresta to get comfortable with it. But the Jedi are long used to this situation, and they know just how to work her over. They even have a name for it: discernment.

You want what's best for your daughter, right? They tell Cresta that as a Jedi her daughter will receive an education. She will be respected and admired. She will never want for anything and she will have a job for life within the Jedi Order. Because cradle to grave, the Jedi take care of their own. Your daughter will never struggle the way you have struggled, they assure Cresta. She will have a better life than you.

They tell Cresta that her daughter will receive special training to control her gift of the Force. Children with the Force can become a danger to themselves and to others. They can be very challenging to teach and to discipline. No daycare will take a kid like this, you know. Truly, this is for the best because you don't look like you can afford a private nanny.

Best of all, your daughter will be forever grateful in the long run. Cresta hears multiple testimonials from pleasant, happy Jedi children about how the best thing their parents ever did was give them to the Jedi. Even though I can't remember them and I don't know their names, I love my parents, they tell her. Because they loved me enough to give me up. Their sacrifice has allowed me to live a selfless life of community service and devotion to the Force. Who could ask for anything more?

What if my daughter doesn't like it, Cresta wants to know. What if she doesn't want to be a nun? Can she leave? No one leaves the Jedi Order, they assure her. Why would they want to? It's a happy, fulfilling life. And Cresta believes this because every Jedi she meets at the group home seems so nice and so happy. By the time her due date approaches, Cresta is starting to wish that she too had the Force and could live happily ever after in the ancient cult.

Finally, Cresta gives birth to a squalling red haired baby girl, and the nurse droids whisk her away before Cresta can hold her. This is how it's done, they assure her. It's for the best. This makes it easier to put the experience behind you. And that's what Cresta has wanted all along. A way to give her child life that allows Cresta to reclaim her own.

Then a kindly looking old woman with a lightsaber bouncing on her hip sits with Cresta as they complete the paperwork. These confidential records will be sealed, the Jedi woman promises her. Jedi only learn of their parentage if they leave the Order. But the child's father is an important man, Cresta tells her. I do not want this information to be used to embarrass him. Never fear, she is told. No one ever looks at these records.

And that turns out to be the truth.

Legal custody of Sheeva Cole, daughter of Cresta Cole, a dancer resident of Coruscant, and Sheev Palpatine, a Senator resident of Naboo, is transferred irrevocably to the Jedi Order. A few days later, a numb Cresta leaves the group home with a pamplet about the Force and a credit card with some cash. 'May the Force be with you,' the Jedi bless her before she departs. Cresta nods. It's time for life to go on.


	8. Chapter 8

It's a Monday night and the club closes early because business is thin. Getting off early is never a cause for celebration if you're a stripper. That's the sign of a bad night that nets only a little cash.

So Cresta finds herself wandering aimlessly on the Upper Levels. She ends up where she often seems to end up these days. At the Jedi Temple. Its five spires are beautifully lit at night, and the whole complex appears a shining beacon in the darkness. Cresta stares up at the temple from the bench she once sat on with Sheev. Her legs are hugged close as she lays her head on her knees. She is curled up to comfort herself.

Is her baby daughter somewhere in that temple? Cresta doesn't know. And she will never know. Anything. That was the deal. And while Cresta can't truly say that she regrets her decision to give her child to the Jedi, it still doesn't sit well. None of her break from Sheev sits well. Not the blackmail or her lie of betrayal. Not the baby or the Jedi. It's a collection of events over which Cresta feels she had very few choices. And that is a bitter pill for this independent woman to swallow.

Shit happens. Life is unfair. These aren't new lessons for Cresta. But somehow they feel new again because for months before that fucking Muun had showed up things had finally seemed to be going her way. At long last, success and true happiness were almost in her grasp. And then, they had both slipped away.

She wonders how Sheev feels about her now. Cresta had received only one message from him and one com voicemail. They said the same thing. _What the fuck, Red? Where are you and what the fuck have you done? I want to hear the truth from you. Because I don't believe it. I know you and so I don't believe it._

Sheev had been right to be skeptical. But Cresta will never get a chance to tell him that. With one last long look at the temple, Cresta straightens up and throws her bag over her shoulder. Then she sets off for the nearest public transport stop.

Lost in her thoughts, Cresta doesn't see the man who had walked up twenty minutes ago and stopped cold when he recognized her. Retreating into the shadows to watch her. Lying in wait until now he can follow her. She doesn't see him dart into the same crowded transport she catches. Doesn't know that he exits her same stop from the rear door. Doesn't notice that he stalks her all the way home. Cresta is completely unaware as she walks into her rented room and lets her bag fall heavily to the floor. She's yanking the hair tie from her ponytail when Cresta realizes that the door did not whoosh closed behind her. And that's when she turns around.

"Sheev!" Cresta blinks for a moment, stunned. She has the sudden strong urge to run into his arms, but she doesn't. She just stands there, staring at him. "Sheev?"

He doesn't answer her. He just lights the sword that's already in his hand. Cresta flinches at the distinctive snap-hiss and takes a step back. She stares hard at his gleaming red blade and swallows. "Oh," she whispers stupidly. Suddenly at a complete loss for words. Because Sheev is not here to take her in his arms and kiss her. He's here to kill her.

Cresta doesn't recognize this man with hate in his face and death in his eyes. This is not the same man who had laughed with her about the absurdity of politics and who had encouraged her to remake herself at the Ballet. This isn't the Sheev who had kissed her breathless and grabbed her ass when no one was looking. This is a killer. Cruel and vicious. And she is his victim. For there's nowhere to run in this small room and he's standing in front of the only exit.

And oh, Gods! Why now? Now a year later when she is finally moving on from the trauma of her heartbreak. From the empty loneliness of her pregnancy and the bitter choice to give up their baby. Why now that she is finally back at the Ballet after working so hard to regain her lost skills and stamina?

"Sheev." She tries again but he doesn't answer. His face is a mask of pain as he looks away, his eyes wandering over the dingy, mostly empty surroundings.

Finally, he speaks and it's a sneer. "Back in the ghetto again, I see. Is this the best he could offer you? Or did he throw you out after you cheated on him too?"

Cresta is confused. Who is he talking about? Oh, yeah, she had told him she had found someone else. "Sheev, it's not what you think-"

"Liar! You're with him!" He looks so rejected, so hurt, so vulnerable for a moment. But then he recovers and Sheev is raging again. "Who is he? Where is he? He's going to die today too, Cresta."

"Sheev-"

"Answer me!" Her delay frustrates him, so he swings the sword up to her face. Cresta leaps back, cringing with fear. They are in such close quarters that she doesn't have much farther to go before she hits the back wall. Truly, she is cornered.

And since she is going to die today, she might as well tell the truth. She owes that to Sheev at least. So Cresta takes a deep breath and reveals, "There was no one else. There was never anyone else."

Strangely enough, he seems to believe her. But it doesn't calm his anger. "Then why did you lie to me?"

"I wanted to end it. I needed to end us. And it seemed like a good explanation at the time. Sheev, I-" she falters. Her eyes keep darting involuntarily to the menacing sword tip. But Cresta rallies. She's going to come clean now at the end. "I loved you. And I didn't want to hurt you but-"

"Liar!" Again, he lunges slightly with the sword and she falls back in terror. Cresta stumbles slightly over her bag lying forgotten on the floor. Sheev takes advantage, kicking her squarely in the chest. Even with a sword in his hand, this street fighter physical aggression is so unexpected, it shocks her. Sheev has never once laid a hand on her in anger. But now Cresta is sprawled on the floor with the wind knocked out of her. Gasping for breath as he looms over her. "You faithless bitch! You never loved me!"

Oh, but she had. Oh, how she had loved this man. And that love is gone forever like the child it had created. And very soon, she too will be gone. The tragedy of it all is too much. Cresta starts to cry.

He is unmoved. "Tears won't work, Cresta. I won't be a fool for you again. Now, beg! I want to hear you beg forgiveness and confess your sins before you meet the Force."

And something about the commanding way Sheev says this cuts through her tears and her terror and pisses her off. "Fuck you!" Cresta scowls up at him. He's mad? Well, she's mad too. The past year has been no picnic for her either. Sheev has no idea what she's gone through and she doubts he would listen to her if she told him. So she'll be damned if she begs this murdering asshole for anything. Who the Hell does he think he is? "Fuck you, Sheev Palpatine!"

He doesn't answer. He just flicks his wrist slightly to swing the sword at her neck, expertly lopping off the end of her ponytail. Four inches of red hair spill down the front of her. And that gets her attention. Suddenly Cresta has her hands up in submission and she's babbling out words fast.

"I thought that I was doing the right thing . . . I didn't want my brother to die! It would break my mother's heart . . . he's up for parole next year-he's almost out . . . Look, I have thought about this long and hard and that Muun is right that I'm not the girl for you . . . You need some classy gal with connections and status who will help your career . . . We are from two different worlds, Sheev . . . I hate him for what he's done and for all that has happened, but I can't say he's wrong . . . "

"Who's wrong?" Sheev clearly isn't following her stream of consciousness.

"The Muun. The one who backed your campaign. The rich guy."

"The Muun!" Sheev hisses this. And then understanding dawns on his face. "The Muun threatened you?"

"Yes. He said he would have my brother killed if I didn't leave you."

"Hego Damask did this?" Sheev sounds disbelieving still.

Cresta can't remember what the guy's name is. "It was the big grey guy you introduced me to at your hotel once. You said he was the richest man in the galaxy or something like that."

"FUCK!" Sheev stares at her in complete shock. But it's coming together for him now. "My Master did this?"

What? Cresta is confused. "No-It was that Muun! That fucking Muun!"

Sheev drops his sword as he raises his left hand. And with it, Sheev raises his power. Cresta doesn't understand what is happening. She just feels the sharp pain and the loss of control as her mind rewinds back a day, a week, a month and then a full year. Cresta is nauseous and dizzy as she relives that last day of happiness when an unwelcome visitor had arrived backstage to destroy her life with threats of violence.

Then she is crying hot tears as she scrawls lies in lipstick on a mirror, she's taking six pregnancy tests because she can't believe it's true, and she's crying as she confesses her predicament to her boss at the Ballet. Is this that young Senator's kid, he quizzes Cresta. And she lies to protect Sheev. Then Cresta is hiding her pregnancy as best she can, she's waiting in line an hour to watch Sheev be sworn in to the Galactic Senate, and she's borrowing money from everyone she knows for an abortion. But during the three-day waiting period, her landlord locks her out of her room and now Cresta is homeless and on the street so in desperation she shows up at the Jedi group home she's heard about.

Yes, Sheev sees it all as Cresta sags to her knees and then slumps to the floor. She cannot resist the Sith's Dark power and it reveals everything. The bitter tears and the sleepless nights. Her fears that she will never regain her dancer's body and strength. The heartache that she has so hurt Sheev without explanation. The utter unfairness of it all. Sheev sees her agonize over the decisions she still isn't certain about months later. He knows her regrets that she had ever slept with him in the first place. Cresta had wanted that one night to remember Sheev by, but it had only succeeded in hurting them each even worse.

These memories are achingly raw and the intense emotions they arise are searing. Poor Cresta can't take any more. The physical pain . . . the emotional pain . . . it's too much. She is curled up at his feet when she simply fades away. Blood seeps from her nose, her mouth and her ears but Cresta is blissfully unaware. She floats in the blank nothing of unconsciousness. Grateful that the hurt is over and beyond caring for what happens next.

From far away, she hears a familiar voice calling to her. "Oh, Cresta, no! Wake up, Red, wake up! I'm sorry, Cresta! Shit, I suck at mind reading, baby. Come back to me-wake up, Cresta." But she has no strength left and her mind is completely befuddled. She cannot form a simple thought. "Oh, Gods, no! Tell me, I didn't fry your mind. Open your eyes, Red, wake up! Open your eyes and say something." Someone is holding her tightly, clasping her to his chest and rocking her back and forth. "Cresta, don't leave me. Please, don't leave me! I love you. I never stopped loving you. Fuck! I fried you, didn't I? I love you and I fucking fried you . . . " The voice is getting farther away now and more indistinct. "I'm going to kill him, Cresta. I will kill him and I will kill each and every Jedi for you. I promise, Red . . . " The voice trails off because Cresta stops listening. Everything stops.

Then her mind abruptly reboots and her eyes flash open and Cresta gasps in a ragged breath. It's Sheev, her beloved Sheev staring down at her. And then recent events come rushing back and with them the memory of Sheev swinging his sword at her. So with a strength she does not possess, Cresta wrenches herself from his arms and skitters across the floor in complete terror. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" she demands.

Sheev is grinning at her and nodding. "That's my girl! I'll explain later. Come here," he beckons but Cresta shakes her head as she struggles to her knees. She has to get away from Sheev before he kills her. He's a monster, now. Whoever this man is, he's not her Sheev.

"It's alright, Red. I'm not angry. I understand now-I saw it all in your mind. I will find a way to fix all of this. I promise."

But Cresta is trembling with fear as he approaches. Shaking her head no in protest to what she fears is coming next.

"Cresta, so I'm sorry I hurt you," he soothes. "I won't hurt you again. You can trust me."

And though Cresta hears these words, she cannot believe them. Sheev's sword is off now but his hand is upraised like he will strike her. Maybe he does strike her. Because she sees his hand move in her direction right before everything goes black again.

* * *

Sheev takes his beloved back to his Upper Level apartment before he leaves for Muunilinst. His Cresta is very deeply asleep in the Force. She will be out for a day or more. And, really, that's the best thing for her right now. Sleep is very restorative for the brain. Cresta needs this, Sheev tells himself, and then he sets off to kill his Master.

He bursts in on Darth Plagueis at his home. The Muun has that Twi'lek woman in his lap when Sheev interrupts. "You're a dead man, Plagueis!" he snarls.

His Master merely raises an eyebrow. Then he leans in to whisper for the woman to leave them, patting her wide ass approvingly as she responds with a low, 'Yes, Master.' Really, the man doesn't even have the good grace to look appropriately threatened. And now Sheev is feeling even more dissed. With the woman gone, the Apprentice gets down to the business at hand. Lighting his sword, Sheev stalks forward.

"This is the end for you, my Master. You will die for what you did to Cresta!"

The Muun rises leisurely to his feet and pulls his own saber hilt from beneath his tunic. It's that archaic crossguard design he favors. Yet another pretentious affectation from his nerdy Master's obsession with Sith history. Darth Plagueis doesn't even bother to light his sword, Sheev notes with a scowl. And he has the gall to look slightly bored. Like he wants to roll his eyes but is suppressing the urge.

"You are going to kill me over a woman?" the Muun drawls. "Over a whore? You are being overly dramatic, Sheev."

"Yes," Sheev scowls. He's scanning the room for the exits and obstacles, plotting his strategy for the fight to come. "This is my revenge for Cresta. And for my child." Then he swings.

It's a vicious attack but the Muun easily weaves out of the way. And he dodges Sheev's next few moves as well. Darth Plagueis still hasn't even lit his own sword. He's enjoying the challenge of the uneven fight. "Child?" Finally, Sheev has his Master's full attention.

"Yes. Cresta was pregnant."

And the cold, calculating Muun has the audacity to smirk at this heartbreak. "Well, congratulations on completing your training, Apprentice. I was beginning to despair that you would ever get her into bed. And here is clear evidence that you did the deed." He considers for a moment. "Where is the child? And are you sure it is yours?"

Fuck this callous bastard, Sheev thinks. Then he rages on behalf of his wronged Cresta. "She was destitute!" Sheev's sword is a flashing red blur and now finally his Master has lit his own blade to engage. "You can't be a pregnant ballerina!"

His Master nods his agreement. Then sneers out his sarcasm, "I suppose you can't be a pregnant whore either." He punctuates this observation with a lunging stab and Sheev leaps back. Yikes, that was close. "Where is the child?" the Muun asks.

And this is worst part of it all, Sheev thinks. For the longer he has brooded over Cresta's unhappy choice, it bothers him more and more. It's starting to sink in now that he is a father. To some anonymous, forever lost child. His Master's betrayal has cost Sheev and Cresta their family. The kid isn't dead, she's worse than dead. Because his namesake baby daughter will be raised in the Light.

"Well?"

Sheev spits out his words. Gods, it hurts to even say them. "She gave the baby to the Jedi."

"To the Jedi?" his Master repeats. The Muun leaps back out of range. And he lowers his sword to disengage. Of course, the Muun is intrigued. "He has the Force then." How old Darth Plagueis loves the eugenics of the Force. His Master has Sith genealogy memorized from before Bane to the present.

"It's a girl."

That news sinks in for a few seconds before his Master shrugs. "In that case, it is not as big a loss." The momentary pause in the fight is over and his Master reactivates his sword and they resume circling one another. "Women do not make good Sith, Apprentice. There have been a few, but they were disappointing. It fights against the female nature to be Sith."

Clearly, the fucking Muun has missed the point entirely. Sheev is beyond outrage now. "That was still my daughter given to our enemy! She is lost forever now!"

Sheev tries his best disarming pass but it is easily blocked. His Master's old crossguard saber is tricky to wield but almost impossible to disarm. And Sheev fighting with a modern single blade is at a disadvantage. "So this is what you were doing in the Underworld," the Muun surmises. "Looking for your redhead."

"Yes." Again, Sheev tries that same pass but this time from the left. And again, Sheev is blocked.

His Master just rolls his eyes. He's unimpressed. As usual. "So did you find her or did she seek you out? Do I need to follow through on my threat of killing that brother of hers?"

"She has been hiding from me. I found her by accident."

"That mercenary bitch sold you out for a thousand credits, did you know that? I have boots that cost more than what I paid her to dump you. It was easy really. I bought her off like the cheap, grasping whore she is." His Master favors him a cajoling look. "Really, Sheev, you can look much higher than her."

"Do not speak of her like that!"

His Master now begins to hurl objects at him with the Force. A lamp first, then a small table. The big Muun is gleeful like a small child at this new tactic. He steps back and they no longer lock swords. Sheev is too busy deflecting incoming furnishings.

"That woman was unsuitable in every respect to be your wife," Darth Plagueis observes calmly.

Sheev is anything but calm. "That is not for you to decide!"

"Oh, but it is, Apprentice," the Muun assures him. "I decide all things where you are concerned. By all means, keep the redhead on the side if you must. But be more discreet about it in the future. It is unbecoming for a Senator to flaunt his indiscretions in public."

"Cresta is a talented classically trained dancer," Sheev protests, broken glass from the mess they have made crunching beneath his boots. "She is much more than a stripper." And two can play at this game, Sheev thinks. The Apprentice begins hurling the objects back at his Master.

His Master waves away this argument as he waves away a flying chair. "Sheev, do not be naïve. She could be a tenured professor, but all that matters to your political opponents and the media is that she once took her clothes off for money and sold sex. I have saved you a lot of trouble by buying her off. One day you will thank me."

No, Sheev thinks, he will not. "You have broken her heart!"

"And yours too, I see," the Muun smirks. "Who knew a sadist like you was such a romantic? Perhaps there is hope for you yet."

"I'm going to kill you!" Sheev is tired of being mocked and tired of hearing his Cresta derided. He tries that same disarming pass again a third time, mixing up the timing and feinting first from the right, then the left.

But, as usual, Darth Plagueis has anticipated him. The damn Muun is always one step ahead of him, Sheev realizes. He watches as his sword travels down his Master's blade to lock in the junction of the crossguard. And then with an easy flick of the wrist, Sheev's hilt is wrenched from his grip to sail across the room.

The Apprentice is the one disarmed, and not the Master.

"You can't kill me," the Muun scoffs. Then, as Sheev's deactivated sword floats effortlessly into his outstretched left hand, his Master begins to list the shortcomings of his Apprentice. "You are slow and clumsy with a sword. And you can't even cast lightning yet. Try again in ten years when you have yellow eyes, Sheev. You are wasting my time now." Both swords are deactivated now and the duel is done. And here comes his punishment, Sheev knows from experience. His Master glances over him with withering condescension before he begins shooting lightning. "You are not even a credible threat yet, Apprentice."

As the beaten Sheev writhes in agony from the full, focused power of the Dark Side, he channels his pain into plotting. If he survives this, then one day Sheev will try again to depose his Master. Darth Sidious will come the closest of any Sith or Jedi to finishing the job. And though he does not succeed, the Apprentice gets his revenge all the same. For Sheev Palpatine takes from his Master what once was taken from him: a beloved wife and an innocent child. Payback is a bitch on the Dark Side.

The child he will be merciful to and Sheev makes it quick and clean. But he will hack away at the Jedi Lady Plagueis, thoroughly enjoying her trauma. With each swing, Sheev thinks of how he and Cresta might have been Shan and Hego Damask if things had been different. And then the Palpatines would have been the glamorous, celebrated couple the newsfeeds fawn over and not the Damasks.

That fateful night, Sheev will be the champion for his woman long scorned. Every snide comment and each belittling remark directed to his Lady Sidious over the years fuels Sheev's rage. When it is over, it is the Apprentice who will rule the galaxy first, even if the Master ends up ruling it far longer.

Years later at the opera of all places, Sheev will relish telling the tale of that night to the secret son of the secret Sith he claims to have slain. But, truthfully, there is no tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise. That man deserved everything he got and more.

But back in the present, finally his Master's Force lightning ends. Will there be more? No. Sheev hears the heavy, quick footsteps of the Muun exiting the room.

It is over. Sheev is thoroughly beaten. But alive.

"Where is Milo?" Sheev gasps as he opens his eyes to find his Master's Twi'lek woman kneeling over him looking concerned. He shrugs her off. "Get Milo." The old Sith manservant is always the one to help him after Darth Plagueis exacts his punishment. It's humiliating enough to be in this position. Sheev doesn't need this woman seeing him brought low.

"Milo is dead." She says this calmly but her tone betrays her deep distress.

Oh, fuck. Just what he needs. Sheev's distressed now too. Milo is very useful at times like this. Now who is going to help him? "Dead?"

"I think so. I interrupt the Master for his help, but it may be too late. Milo collapsed. I think it was a heart attack."

"Fuck," Sheev groans out loud, not bothering to temper his profanity. Milo had always known what to do. And the old man is—was-very discreet.

"Let me help you," she tells him and Sheev sees that the Twi'lek too knows what to do. She's got a water bottle and a pile of large bacta patches beside her.

Greedily, he reaches for the water. His Master's lightning at full strength burns inside as well as outside. Sheev feels hot all over and utterly depleted. As he sits up to gulp down the cool water, she efficiently unbuttons his tunic to inspect the damage. Sheev looks down to find that his torso is raw with blisters already. It's really bad this time. Just like he feared. Sheev watches as she carefully pulls away the fabric, taking as little skin as possible with it. She is very gentle, but fuck this hurts. Then she begins to plaster him with large sticky and cool bacta patches. They feel like heaven. Sheev sighs with relief.

"You've done this before," he realizes.

"Yes. I did this for the prior Apprentice. The Master was very angry with him. That Apprentice suffered greatly."

His Master is always cagey about the past, so Sheev takes this opportunity to learn more. Milo is far more tight lipped than this woman is. Sheev would have spoken to this old girl before if he knew that. "Why did he kill him?"

She looks surprised that Sheev doesn't already know. "The Master catch him in bed with his wife. The Master was merciful to her. She died instantly. But he kept the Apprentice alive for years to experiment on his Force."

His Force? "You mean his midichlorians?"

She looks at Sheev blankly. Evidently, the Twi'lek doesn't know the term. She continues, "Milo and I would help him. We treat his wounds. The Master not allow us to let him die." The woman's mouth sets in a hard line. "The Master is not cruel to me, but he is cruel."

Yes, Sheev is very aware of this. Now more than ever. He sighs and the movement hurts.

He watches his Master's Twi'lek as she works. She's pretty in a faded, aristocratic sort of way. It's completely at odds with her thick accent and unrefined speech. And what's even more befuddling is the glittering diamond slave collar she wears. In ten years, Sheev has only seen this woman a handful of times in passing, but always she wears that collar. That's probably a million credits or more around her neck, he thinks. Who knew old Darth Plagueis was into that kind of kink.

And Hego Damask calls this woman his wife in private. So why the degrading collar? That's something a gross Hutt would do. Not a Muun banker who's as sophisticated as they come. Sheev can't imagine treating his Cresta like that. "Does he make you wear that?" he asks.

"No." She reaches up to finger at the diamonds. "But it is who I am, Apprentice."

He squints at this comment. "What is your name again?"

"I am called Pilar."

"I'm sorry about old Milo, Pilar," Sheev tells her impulsively. It will be weird not to see the old servant around. Milo practically haunts this place. He runs the private life of Hego Damask and, Sheev suspects, knows everything there is to know about Darth Plagueis.

Pilar looks down at Sheev now, her big grey eyes slightly fearful. "The Master took Milo down to the lab. He try to wake Milo up with the Force. Like his experiments. Apprentice, I will help you and then you must leave. The Master forbids me to speak with men alone after what happened with his last wife."

Sheev wants to laugh at her concern. This Twi'lek is old enough to be his mother probably. "You're not my type," he says dryly.

She takes the remark gracefully. "Yes. I am not a redhead," she says softly as she meets his eyes. "I saw your girl dance last fall. She is so talented. And very beautiful."

Sheev looks away. But not before the woman catches his forlorn expression.

"You argue with the Master over her? That's why he shoot his lightning?"

"Yes." Sheev might as well admit this.

She finishes placing the final bacta patch on his back. But she keeps talking. "The Master no longer approves of her now that he knows her past." The Twi'lek purses her lips in disapproval. "We women can never escape our past, Apprentice. Men move on but women get labeled. Once a whore, always a whore. Once a slave, always a slave. Or maybe it's a stripper or a bitch or a nasty woman. We get ugly names that limit us. Restrict who we are and who we can be. Men don't get labeled like that. They are allowed to make mistakes and to change and maybe even to overcome their past. But it's different for us." And though this Twi'lek sounds nearly stupid with her accented and labored Basic, Sheev sees that she is very astute indeed. And maybe a little less loyal than she pretends to be.

She stands now and reaches a lovely perfectly manicured hand down to help him up. He's not too proud to take it. "You love this girl?" she asks softly. It's a blunt but fair question.

Again, Sheev looks away. "Yes."

She nods and digests this. "The Master says he loved the wife he killed. He says he loves me, but I know that he does not. I don't think the Master has ever loved."

The words come out of Sheev's mouth before he thinks better of it. "Do you love him?"

And now it is her turn to look away. "The Master is my owner. He treats me good and I am loyal. After what happened with the last wife, the Master want a loyal wife he could trust. That's why he ask the Hutt for me. He make my Hutt an offer he could not refuse."

Sheev's astute ears hear what this woman does not say. So he says it for her. "You don't love him."

"No," she admits plainly. "I loved the Hutt who sold me to the Master years ago. I can love a Hutt, but I cannot love that Sith." She catches Sheev's eye now as she advises, "Love is precious, Apprentice. If you find it, take a risk to keep it. Whether or not you get your name on the temple wall does not matter. Love matters. Someday my Master will learn that the hard way."

And then she helps Sheev to his ship and he sets course for Coruscant. As soon as he is in hyperspace, Sheev pops a pain pill and falls asleep. He is restored somewhat by the time he reaches home.

And battered though he is, Sheev still needs to kill someone. Desperately. He has to vent this pent-up Darkness. And since Sheev can't kill that fucking guilty-as-sin Darth Plagueis, then he will kill the next most culpable party, a Jedi. So back on Coruscant, Sheev heads first to the Lower Level clinic Cresta had gone to. Sure enough, there is a Jedi woman standing outside. It is very satisfying to kill her.

So satisfying that this becomes a habit for Sheev. Through the years whenever he fights with Cresta, loses a key vote in the Senate, or faces some similar setback or frustration, Sheev Palpatine finds himself an unsuspecting Jedi to kill. Often they are like this woman, standing outside of a health clinic. But sometimes they are at one of the many halfway houses, group homes and food kitchens the Jedi seem to run on every planet. Violence is the ultimate stress release for Sheev, and it is especially soothing to kill a Jedi. He takes most of them by surprise and few put up a decent fight.

Only once, many years later, does Sheev let one live. Because she's a small thing, barely more than a Padawan, and she has bright red hair. And that makes Sheev pause a moment and wonder.


	9. Chapter 9

When a tired and still hurting Sheev drags himself back to his Coruscant apartment, he nearly bumps into Cresta on her way out. "Where are you going?" he demands. She's walking out on him again? Not this time. Not ever. He grabs Cresta's arm and thrusts her back inside.

It's the wrong thing to say and to do. For Cresta looks at him with true fear in her eyes. And then Sheev belatedly realizes that he had dumped her here in a strange place with no explanation after he had drawn a sword on her and invaded her mind. Yeah . . . he probably should have at least left a note or something. But he had been in a rush to confront his Master. And look how well that had turned out.

Realizing his mistake, Sheev is instantly conciliatory. "We need to talk, Red," he tells her gently. "There are things you need to know. Things I want to tell you."

But she is wary. And brutally honest. "I don't want to talk. I want to get the Hell away from you. Before you try to kill me again."

Yeah, this is not going well. "Cresta, listen to me—"

"I should have listened to my gut that first night. You are one scary motherfucker, Sheev. If you're not threatening me with your laser sword, you are ripping my head apart. What the Hell was that? No, don't answer me. I don't care. I'm leaving."

Sheev catches her arm again. And now he reveals to her what only a handful of other people know. "Cresta, I have the Force. That's why the baby had the Force. She inherited it from me. I am not a Jedi. I am a Dark Lord of the Sith."

"Yeah? Whatever. I don't know what that means." Cresta is unconcerned and unimpressed. She shrugs out of his grip and eyes him with reproach. "My head still hurts, Sheev. That fucking hurt. Really hurt."

"I'm sorry, Red. I was too rough. I'm not very good at reading minds." He reaches now to brush at her cheek. But she shies away and he feels the sting of her rejection. And, well, he deserves it for how he has treated her.

"Reading minds?" She gapes at him curiously for a second and then recovers her breezy nonchalance. "Whatever. I'm leaving. Get out of the way."

But he stands his ground. "Cresta, I'm a Sith and I'm going to rule the galaxy one day."

Again, she is uncomprehending and unimpressed. "Yeah, right. Newsflash, Senator. The galaxy is a democratic republic. The people rule the galaxy." Cresta says this with absolute certainty, reciting the platitude she and the rest of the galaxy's schoolchildren were raised on. Sheev doesn't press the point, and it will take years before Cresta Cole completely understands what it means to be Sith.

Sheev looks her in the eye now, coating his words with the manipulative gravitas of the Dark Side. "Stay, Cresta. I love you. I never want to hurt you again."

And strongminded girl that she is, Cresta looks thoroughly unconvinced. So Sheev tries again.

"Cresta, I am so sorry. For everything. For what the Muun did. For not being there to help you. For threatening you. For hurting you. I want us to start again. Now that the truth is out, we can start again. Let me make this up to you." Sheev reaches for her, wanting to take her in his arms. But again she rebuffs his touch.

And now Cresta is beyond unconvinced. She's incredulous. Frowning at him like he's an idiot to even think that they might have a future. "No. I can't do this, Sheev. Too much has happened. I just . . . can't."

"What do you mean can't?" he demands. "So you're just going to let the Muun win?"

And Cresta explodes. It's as if all the frustration, anger and sadness of the past year bursts forth in a torrent of resentment. "This isn't a game, Sheev! This is my life! And it's been awful for the past year. Don't you get it? I lost you, I gave up our child forever, and my career was sidetracked. That's a big fucking deal, Sheev! While you were off being a Senator, I was alone, pregnant and broke. Homeless even for a few days. Fuck you, Sheev! You don't know how hard it was. You will never understand how hard it was. But it's over now and I'm moving on. I am getting my life back and my career back and I am moving on. Alone."

Shit, this conversation is not going the way he wants it to go. Sheev crosses his arms over his chest defensively. And ouch! That hurts. He's still so fried from Force lightning. "What are you saying?"

"It's over, Sheev," she snaps back without a moment's hesitation. "I'm saying it's over. This isn't what I wanted back then, but it is what I want now."

No, no, no! This is going all wrong. He starts sputtering. "How can you say that? I love you! I still want to marry you!"

"Marry me?" Cresta blinks in surprise. Then she throws up a hand and starts walking out again, shaking her head. "Oh, Sheev, please don't. It's too late for that now. A year too late."

He follows her. "It's not too late. We can fix this. I know we can!"

Cresta whirls on him. "What about my brother? Huh? What about him? That Muun fucker who bankrolled you isn't going away."

No, he isn't. She's right. "Let me handle him. And I can help with your brother. I'll get him paroled or pardoned or his case overturned or something. I'm a Senator, Red. I can call in some favors."

She nods to accept his offer. "Okay, then that's what you can do for me. To make it up to me, get my brother out of jail." Then again she heads for the door.

"Stop! Don't leave!" Sheev is ready to beg now. "Please don't leave!"

She keeps walking. She's out the door and into the hallway now.

"Would you have married me?" Sheev calls after her. He needs to know this. Did Cresta once love him as much as he had loved her?

The question stops her in her tracks and Cresta half turns. Her voice is warning. "Sheev—"

"Would you? Tell me the truth."

Cresta looks down now. She starts smoothing her hair behind her ear in a gesture that he knows means she's feeling uncomfortable.

"Would you?" he asks again quietly as he steps closer.

Cresta sighs. "Yes, Sheev, I would have married you." Her words should encourage him, but her voice sounds so detached that it's depressing. It's like she is talking about another person, and not herself. "I loved you, Sheev. But I don't love you anymore. I don't think I can ever love anyone again. Not after all that has happened."

"But Cresta—"

She ignores him. "The Ballet was great through all this. They stood by me and let me go on leave. I'm almost back to where I was dancing before the baby. They have even agreed to loan me to the Royal Ballet on Alderaan to dance a lead role this spring. It's essentially an audition for the principal spot on Alderaan that will come open next season."

"So you're moving to Alderaan now?" Is he understanding her correctly?

She nods. "Yes, I hope so. And I'm going to be fully legit there. I'm leaving the clubs behind. It's a fresh start for me."

"Marry me and you'll never have to club dance again."

"No. I'm doing this on my own, Sheev. By myself, for myself. This is my dream and I'm not letting it go because of all that has happened. I'm still going to have the dance career I have always wanted." She looks away now as she tells him in a low voice, "I'm moving on. You should move on too, Sheev."

"No, Cresta—"

"Sheev," she overrides him with logic he has heard before from his Master. "That Muun guy is correct. I am not the right girl for you. In the end, all of this would come out. Do you want to be known as the Senator who married a stripper who blew guys for credits? As the Senator who had an out of wedlock child?" She looks miserable and her words come out bitter. "I would be an embarrassment to you."

He disagrees. "No, I'll be the Senator married to the classical dancer. We'll fix the marriage date and make the baby legitimate. We'll tell anyone who asks that we gave the baby to the Jedi because she had the Force. Lots of families do that. And we'll flatly deny that you ever danced in the clubs." Sheev is a Sith and he has no problem with a few lies to mislead the public.

But Cresta has no enthusiasm for his plan. "It would never work. I'm not political wife material, Sheev. I'm not polished, I swear, I can't campaign or give speeches." She shrugs sheepishly as she looks up at him. "Honestly, I really don't care about politics."

"None of that matters," he assures her. "I don't care about those things, Cresta."

"You will. Maybe not now, but someday. You're going to be the Supreme Chancellor, right? Sheev, I'm not First Lady material-anyone can see that."

All he can see is that he's not convincing her. Not even a little. And something about Cresta's resigned tone has Sheev too feeling beaten. "So I found you, I found out the truth, and now I'm losing you all over again." Losing her all the way to Alderaan too.

"Yeah," she confirms. "It's better this way. For both of us."

Not really, he thinks. But he's not going to change her mind today, he knows. So he begins thinking of the practicalities. "You're not going back to the Lower Levels. I won't let you live there, Cresta. It's not safe."

"It's all I can afford right now."

"Then I'll get you an apartment again," he offers. "Let me help you. At least let me do that."

"No, Sheev. I want a clean break. I don't want there to be any connections between us."

"But Cresta—"

"No, Sheev!" Her tone is very sharp now. Annoyed. "We're through."

"Let me give you credits, then. Let me help you."

"No, Sheev! We're through. I mean it! I don't want your money. I don't want anything to do with you. Don't you get it?"

"Okay. Okay." Sheev is not making any headway. And he can tell that if he persists, he may make things even worse. And maybe she's right and this situation isn't salvageable. Sheev sighs as he faces defeat for the second time today. "We'll have it your way, Cresta. Since you insist." So for now, a reluctant Sheev lets Cresta go. He watches as she retreats down the hall, her beautiful long red hair an uneven mess from where he had lopped off her ponytail. Damn, he regrets doing that now.

He stands there a man utterly beaten. His body burned and blistered from his Master and his heart bruised and aching from Cresta. Before when Sheev had lost Cresta, he had felt bereft. But now Sheev knows that he has lost not only Cresta, but their daughter too. It's like a divorce and a death rolled into one. And somehow all the Dark glory of the Sith seems a sad consolation prize. For plotting to rule the galaxy-and maybe one day succeeding in ruling it—seems a lot less satisfying now that Sheev has known love.

True to his word, Sheev stays away but still, he is still heartsick over what has happened. One night, smoking spice by the Jedi temple, a brooding Sheev recalls the advice of his Master's old Twi'lek to take a risk for love. So, on a whim, Sheev is there the night when Cresta debuts on Alderaan in some ancient ballet about a doll.

The ballet is boring but Cresta herself is wonderful. A hopeful Sheev greets her backstage afterwards with a huge bouquet and a kiss. Cresta is so elated about the performance that she forgets to rebuff him. And that's how they begin again. Sheev comes to Alderaan when he can and, more often than not, they end up in bed together. At first, it's more of an affair than a relationship. But Sheev will take what he can get. Rebuilding her trust turns out to be a years long process.

Sheev is a stealthy Sith who knows how to sneak around. He is careful but there are times when he's pretty sure his Master knows what's going on between him and Cresta. But if he knows, Darth Plagueis doesn't press the issue. Then one day his Master summons Sheev to announce that he has found a suitable Missus Palpatine for him. And with supreme satisfaction and a smug smirk, Sheev displays his long healed slash scarred left hand.

That gesture is completely worth the prolonged attack of blue lightning that follows.

After an excruciating few minutes, the now revived old Milo cleans Sheev up and sends him on his way. All in all, it's a telling moment because it confirms what Sheev has come to suspect: that his Master needs him enough now that he won't kill him. At least, not over Cresta.

The balance of power between Master and Apprentice has shifted slightly. And slowly over the years the trend continues. Darth Plagueis may have far greater power in the Force than Darth Sidious, but Sheev Palpatine rises to equal political and social status to Chairman Hego Damask. Outwardly the men are congenial friends but behind closed doors the Sith are contentious allies. With time, the undercurrents of dissatisfaction, jealousy and resentment will grow. And grow.

But for many, many years, Darth Sidious simply bides his time.

Sheev worries for a while that Cresta is the one in danger. That his Master will make him a widower out of spite. During the years she spends dancing on Alderaan, Sheev hires security to watch her at all times. But thankfully, it turns out to be unnecessary.

Once Cresta retires from dancing, she is back on Coruscant to be near him. And she is bored and unenthusiastic about spending her days being a politician's wife. Let's have a baby, Sheev tells her. But when Cresta outright refuses to have any more children, he lets the issue drop. She doesn't want to go there, Cresta tells him through tears. It's just too painful. And thanks to the Jedi, she is terrified of raising a child who might have the Force.

So one day Cresta announces that she has taken out a loan and bought a business. It's the strip club she used to dance in. Sheev is not pleased-she had left all that behind years ago he rages-but Cresta defends the decision to him. Ballet and strip clubs are the only businesses she knows. And that's how Coruscant's most notorious madame gets her start.

Cresta's business is a point of bitter contention between them and the source of much conflict as Sheev's Senate career thrives. They compromise on an arrangement where Cresta stays in the background of his life and runs her business as she pleases. Well, it's not a compromise so much as Sheev's complete concession. But after all that has happened, Sheev can't say no to Cresta. He will spend the rest of their lives trying to make up for the loss of their daughter.

Plus, it gives their relationship all the spice of a sordid affair even though they are an old married couple. For Sheev is first the junior Senator, then the senior Senator, the Majority Whip, the Majority Leader and ultimately the Supreme Chancellor. And all along, he's sneaking around to meet up with an increasingly notorious redhead.

Perhaps the arrangement is shortsighted because in time as his star rises, hers does too. Cresta becomes the unofficial queen of the Coruscant Underworld. But that role ultimately precludes her from being the Empress of the galaxy. Hego Damask was wrong about a great many things, but he was right that the galaxy will not accept a foul mouthed, ballsy woman who deals in vice as its First Lady. Sheev loves Cresta too much to subject her to that scrutiny and disapproval. And that too becomes a topic for conflict.

There are good times, lots of them. But it's never the same as before. Because even for this evil Sith and his shady dancer girlfriend, a certain innocence has been lost. A bit of trust is gone that cannot be regained. And with it, an optimism about their shared future has tarnished, and her willingness to bend and to change has waned. Where Cresta might once have been malleable for Sheev and grown into a presentable political wife, she now cannot take that leap of faith. If anything, Cresta becomes more independent than ever. Stubbornly determined that she will always be able to make it on her own. At her core, terrified to ever rely again on Sheev—or any other man-for financial or emotional support.

She's not bitter. It's more like resigned. Cresta might let Sheev slash her hand and marry her legally, but something about them is always a bit arms' length all the same. You don't have to scratch too hard on the surface to find the resentment and hurt that lies beneath both of them. But gamely, Sheev soldiers on. Believing to his core that she is the one and only. Darth Sidious is her Sith and she is his lady, and Sheev Palpatine will have no other woman. Cresta tries to make it work too, with mixed success. But mostly, Cresta just hangs around through it all. And that counts for something with a Sith.

Madame Pilar dies quietly in her sleep and Sheev realizes that his Master's Twi'lek wife was far older than she appeared. A few years later, his Master announces that he will be the one to marry their First Lady. It is time for Darth Plagueis to choose a fifth wife. But when his Master steals a giant Muun Jedi woman and announces she is the one, Sheev takes her into instant dislike.

His Master's new wife becomes one of many Jedi Sheev Palpatine will kill over the years. Ostensibly, his motivation is the revenge of the Sith and a means to consolidate his power. But it is a personal revenge too. Payback for the Jedi manipulating his vulnerable Cresta into giving up Sheeva Cole, the daughter Sheev never knows who is raised to be his enemy.

So years later when Sheev's own Sith Apprentice learns that he has a son stolen and raised by the Jedi, against his better judgment Darth Sidious lets Darth Vader stalk the boy rather than kill him. Thinking of his own lost child, a secretly empathetic Sheev agrees to attempt to turn the young Luke Skywalker. This time, Sheev thinks, Darkness will reclaim what the Light has stolen.

It turns out to be a very bad decision. Decisions motivated by sentiment usually are, Sheev thinks. Thankfully, his old Muun Master is out there somewhere, watching and waiting. Darth Sidious takes comfort in that at the end. You can't kill old Darth Plagueis, Sheev reminds himself as he plummets to his death. And so eventually, once more the Sith will rule the galaxy.


	10. Red Epilogue

_34 Years Later_

"My lady."

Milo bows respectfully as Cresta arrives at the building lobby with the Apprentice. She ignores the old servant and sweeps past. The man is unfailingly polite, but Cresta still senses Milo's disdain. Plus, he's a reminder of Darth Plagueis and that doesn't sit well with Cresta. She has argued on and off with Sheev for years now about pensioning old Milo off.

Once they are in the privacy of the elevator, Cresta turns back to Vader. She cranes her neck to look up at his mask. If anything, Anakin seems to be even taller now that he's in the suit. He's more machine now than man, Cresta thinks. And for a few seconds she again mourns the handsome, reckless youth who in so many ways had reminded her of a younger Sheev.

"Kid, what is this about?" she wants to know.

"The past."

"I thought we were done with the past," she grumbles. "That's what Sheev keeps telling the galaxy, right?" Is Vader dreading this mysterious conversation as much as she is, Cresta wonders? The kid is so hard to read now behind that mask. "I know you want to be done with the past too," she tells Vader softly. Because even without seeing his face, she knows the kid is still hurting. Not just his body, but his soul.

Cresta herself remembers keenly what heartache felt like. And unlike her and Sheev, there will be no happy ending for the kid and his prissy Senator wife.

"Kid, are you okay?" Cresta asks impulsively. She's prying, she knows. But something about the kid brings out the motherly side of Cresta. "Like really okay?"

"Yes." That's how he always speaks these days. In the shortest possible number of words and in a tone designed to shut down all further conversation. It speaks volumes to Cresta about the depths of this man's pain.

When the elevator door opens, Cresta steps into the apartment and yanks off her long black hooded cloak in one smooth motion. Here, at home with Sheev in the Muun's old Upper Level party palace there is no need for pretense. No need for the act of being the Emperor's silent and secret lady. Plus, that cloak is heavy and Cresta can barely see out of it. Sheev and Vader would probably think it heresy, but all this silly Sith posturing is impractical, she thinks.

Sheev stands looking out from the balcony. The Emperor is hooded and cloaked himself, as is his custom now. Cresta is at his side automatically. Reaching up to draw back his hood and to greet him with a kiss. She makes a point of kissing Sheev and touching his face now. Cresta knows that her husband is very self-conscious about his deformed face.

They have only spoken of it once, that first night of the Empire as Sheev lay in her arms and sobbed that all was lost. That he had finally won but had lost everything in the process. Vader was dying horribly burned in the medical center and Kenobi had gotten away. The Jedi were gone and their leaders were dead, but Master Yoda had escaped him. And here he was, Emperor at long last and a monster to behold. That fucking Muun had spent so many years impressing on Sheev how much appearances matter. And now that her Sheev had won it all, the Muun's influence still undercut him. It had pissed Cresta off. And it was one more reason to hate that fucking Muun.

"Will you still love me?" Sheev had asked. And her Sith's utter vulnerability in his moment of triumph had saddened her. Cresta had taken a deep breath and tried to make light of the situation. "Sheev, you were never much to look at," she told him bluntly but with a big smile. "Does the rest of you work?" He had looked at her blankly. "Have you still got that big dick?" Sheev had blinked at her and nodded. "Then of course I still love you." And that was that. Besides, she had told Sheev, she's got a few wrinkles now too.

Standing at her Sith's side, Cresta now follows Sheev's gaze to the massive construction site below that had once been the Coruscant Jedi Temple. "They are almost finished tearing it down," she sees.

Her Emperor nods. "It will be another year before you get your palace, Red."

"I can wait," she shrugs. "It's been years since I was last there," she remarks offhand about the temple.

Many years later, apparently this is still a sore subject with Sheev. For he knows exactly what Cresta is referring to. "Never interfere with my affairs again, Cresta," he turns to tell her sternly. "I could easily have killed her that day but for you."

"Yeah, well, you got your chance," Cresta complains bitterly. Because this is still a sore subject for her too.

"Shan Damask has been dead years now. Let it go, Cresta."

But of course, she doesn't. And they are bickering again, like always. "She's the one person in the galaxy who I asked you not to kill and you do it anyway. I understood about their boy, but why her?"

"Let it go, Cresta. She was his, so she had to die," Sheev tells her impatiently. "And she was Jedi, so she would have died in Order 66 eventually."

But Cresta doesn't want to let it go. Because even though Sheev is the Emperor now, one threat still hangs over their head. And it's the same threat as always. "You know he is out there still. And he will get his revenge. He'll kill me now too since you killed her," Cresta complains.

Sheev glances over at Vader standing a respectful distance away. "Plagueis is dead. Drop it, Cresta."

Bullshit, she thinks. "You know he's out there! Just like Kenobi is."

And as soon as Cresta says these words, she regrets them and shoots an apologetic glance over at Vader. The very mention of Kenobi sets him off. The Apprentice shifts his weight uncomfortably but says nothing. Even with that heavy mechanical wheeze of his, Vader is so quiet these days that Cresta often forgets he's there. The kid is so changed now.

"Plagueis has been dead for years. The circle is long complete. Once I was but the learner, now I am the master," Sheev boasts. Cresta has heard that line many times before.

"Well, I don't like being in this situation. And I don't like him." Cresta gestures over to Milo who waits by the door. "Milo is his through and through, so if he's alive then I don't want him spying on us."

"For the last time, Lady Sidious," Sheev snarls at her, "Plagueis is dead! Milo serves the Sith, and I am Master now so he serves me. He is useful still. He himself got rid of the Muun's body."

"You should give Milo to the kid," she offers a compromise. "He could use the help."

"Cresta, enough."

"Sheev, for me?" she wheedles, reaching to tuck her arm into his elbow.

"Fine," her Sith sighs in exasperation. He calls across the room. "Milo, you may serve Lord Vader for the time being. You are dismissed." And then Sheev turns to the waiting Vader. "Did you get it?"

"Yes, my Master." The towering Apprentice offers up a datapad. And Sheev now tugs her forward with him as he accepts it from Vader.

"W-what is this?" She looks over to Sheev and then up at Vader. Why are they both looking at her like that? "What? What is it?"

"Information from the Jedi Archives," her husband says softly. And something about his tone instantly puts Cresta on edge. Whatever this information is, it's important. And it's not good.

"What does this have to do with me?" she asks warily. And she moves to step away, but Sheev keeps her arm firmly tucked into his. And now Cresta starts panicking because suddenly she thinks she knows what this has to do with her. She shakes her head. "Oh, no, Sheev. If that's what I think it is—"

"Cresta," he overrides her and turns to face her. Sheev reaches to place both his hands on her upper arms to steady her. "This is a way to finally put the past behind us." He says this very gently and, yes, this what she thinks it is. Cresta's eyes fill with tears.

"Your fucking Order 66 did that!" she sobs, tearing away to stalk across the room. Shit! She has been blindsided by this. Why is Sheev bringing this up now?

"Red—"

Cresta just rages. Like she did when she first found out about her husband's solution for the Jedi. "She's dead now and you killed her! You killed our daughter, Sheev!"

"It was necessary." Her Emperor says this softly, with resignation.

"No, it wasn't! You could have saved her!"

Sheev holds her gaze. "The Jedi are beyond redemption, Red. She was lost to us long ago."

"Fuck you! You're still blaming me for this, aren't you? Thirty-five years later, you are still blaming me!"

Again, her Sheev speaks gently. His face looks so kind, bulging grey wrinkled skin, yellow eyes and all. "There was no saving her, Red. She was raised to hate us. The Jedi are beyond redemption."

"Yeah, well what about him?" Cresta gestures over to Vader. "He's a Jedi who became a Sith. And what about Shan Damask? She was a Jedi who married a Sith. Not all Jedi hate the Sith." Hot tears run down her face now and her voice is cracking from emotion. "You didn't even give her a chance to be open to us, Sheev! You don't know how she would have reacted." And now Cresta points at the datapad he holds. "Whatever that is, I don't want to see it."

"I do, Cresta," Sheev tells her quietly. "I have never even seen her."

"And you never will now!" It's a mean spirited remark, but Cresta doesn't care.

"This is the Muun's fault, Red. Not your fault, not mine."

"Bullshit! How long are you going to continue to blame crap you do on him?" Cresta is full out crying now. Ugly crying with big gasping sobs and a runny nose. "She didn't deserve this!"

"I know," says Sheev as he walks forward to take Cresta in his arms. She stands there a moment in his comforting embrace, encircled in his dark robe. "You didn't deserve this either, Red. Now, please. Don't make me watch this alone. Let's do this together."

And belatedly they both remember that they still have an audience. They always seem to argue when Vader is around. And the kid sees too much. Far too much. "Leave us, Lord Vader," Sheev commands.

The Apprentice nods and withdraws.

And then Sheev leads her over to the couch and together they sit to view the information retrieved by special order from a half-burned temple. He's the Sith Emperor of the galaxy, a man prematurely aged and made unrecognizable by Darkness. She's the former ballerina who has amassed a fortune peddling vice to both the rich and the poor. But many long years ago, they were young lovers separated first from each other by a Sith and then from their daughter by the Jedi.

Sheev puts a comforting arm around her and Cresta takes a deep breath. Then he opens the Jedi datafile of Sheeva Cole. They take their time as they view the pictures and read the records. And when they are done, they are both crying.

With relief.

"She's alive," Cresta whispers. "She must still be alive somewhere."

For Sheeva Cole, the hot-tempered redhead with an impressive midichlorian count and notable negotiation skills, had been expelled by the Jedi Order five years ago. For persistent and prolonged abuse of spice despite numerous stints in rehab. She had begun smoking spice as an escape from the battlefield traumas she had seen firsthand in the Clone Wars. And over time, she had succumbed to full blown addiction. Ultimately, embezzling from the Order to finance her habit.

"I didn't kill her." Sheev is so visibly relieved that for the first time Cresta understands how much this long-lost daughter they rarely speak about had meant to him. "I'm so glad I didn't kill her."

"Me too. Do you think we could find her?"

"If she's still alive, then she's in hiding, Red. Because she's a Force-user. The whole galaxy knows Vader hunts Force-users."

"Oh."


	11. Red Notes

I wrote this story to tell the romance of Sheev and Cresta. Cresta began as a side character in _Fifth Wife_ who was mostly there to move the plot along so Darth Sidious could find the missing Shan and force her back to the Jedi. But the more I thought about Cresta, the more interesting she became to me as a writer.

If you know opera, Cresta is one part Violetta from _Traviata_ (true love kept apart by a disapproving father figure), one part Manon from _Manon Lescaut_ (the disdained, long suffering and tragic prostitute) and one part Marguerite from _Faust_ (the trusting and duped innocent seduced by the devil).

It was important to me that Cresta not have the Force. That makes her an outsider in the Jedi-Sith conflict. It also makes her largely interchangeable, even disposable, to Snoke. In many ways, she is a Padme figure. An independent woman accidentally embroiled with the Sith who turns a blind eye to some of the warning signs about her man. And, like Padme, Cresta loses a child. But Cresta is no idealist. And that is the character trait that helps Cresta endure, where Padme cannot.

Cresta has overcome true adversity time and again, and she has no illusions about her ability to change things. So, she copes with shit, finds a work around, or just moves on. In this respect, she's a lot like Rey of _Fulcrum_ , and that's why her character becomes a sounding board for Rey in _Fulcrum Part Two_. Cresta, at her core, is a survivor much like Rey. She would never have lost the will to live and been overwhelmed by circumstances like Padme in Episode III. Cresta would be far more likely to dig in her heels and cling to life if only so that she could show up and demand an explanation from her Sith (I could just imagine Cresta's "What the fuck, Anakin?" speech if she were Padme. There would be none of this "You're breaking my heart" business).

Cresta is the same generous character in this story as she is in _Fifth Wife_. In that story, we see Cresta help Shan when she doesn't know who Shan is-Cresta just recognizes that Shan is hiding something and needs a job. And once she learns that Shan is pregnant, Cresta still tries to help. Perhaps Cresta remembers how much help meant to her when she was pregnant and on her own years ago. Cresta's willingness to help and her natural empathy for others in need helps define who she is, whether she's lending money to coworkers in _Red_ , aiding Shan in _Fifth Wife_ or being a listening ear to a depressed Rey in _Fulcrum Part Two_. At the same time, Cresta is no pushover and she speaks her mind when giving advice to Shan and Rey. She's a mix of realism, tough love and generosity of spirit.

This story allows me to show a Sith courtship. That doesn't really appear in my other fics. In _Fulcrum_ , Rey gets brutalized and later captured and imprisoned by Kylo Ren—she would never actually date Kylo if given the chance. In _Fifth Wife_ , Shan is duped and stolen a few days later by predatory Snoke—she too would never date her Sith since she's a Jedi. But in _Red_ , Sheev and Cresta have a quasi-normal love affair. Sheev is not telling her everything that he is, but all along this is a mutual and consensual relationship. I wanted this pair to fall in love in a typical dating relationship where Sheev isn't using the Force on her and manipulating her constantly. That normalcy is a testament to how Sheev is not yet a mature Sith in this story. He's nowhere near as Dark as Kylo is at this age. But, as we know, Sheev Palpatine will become very Dark with time.

Cresta suffers for her love of Sheev like my other Sith wives suffer. And like my other Sith, Sheev suffers too for his choices. You know the theme from my other stories: There are no true happy endings on the Dark Side. But we know from _Fulcrum Part Two_ that Cresta endures to live a good (very long) life and makes her influence felt years later to Rey and Kylo.

I had misgivings about writing this story because the Sheev Palpatine we see in the movies is not exactly romantic hero material. In the prequels he's a manipulative smarmy politician and in the classic trilogy he's super old and scary looking. And Dark, Dark, Dark. Darth Sidious doesn't exactly come off well in my other Sith stories either. I needed to explain his point of view for disliking and undermining (and ultimately trying to kill) Shan the Jedi in _Fifth Wife_. And there needed to be an understandable explanation for his attack against Snoke that kills Shan and Caar Damask. In my tale, it all comes down to Snoke's treatment of Cresta and Sheev's belief that the Jedi stole his child by taking advantage of a vulnerable Cresta. Ultimately, Sheev wants revenge against Snoke, he wants to steal Snoke's power, and he wants revenge on the Jedi.

So . . . how do you make Palpatine empathetic? Readers know that I don't like to water down my Sith. These men are monsters in most respects, but they grow into that depth of evil over time. So my story is set when Sheev is Kylo's age in Force Awakens. And, like Kylo, Sheev is still in the process of becoming a Sith. In fact, Kylo is far Darker at this age due to the wartime context of his training. Palpatine lives in peacetime and that impacts his experiences. I imagine he is better trained by Snoke in some ways, but has had less independent experience. And, frankly, less ability to act on his violence urges. My story begins when Sheev is finally getting more independence from Snoke as he embarks on his career as a Sith. He's chafing some at Snoke's influence and anxious for more autonomy. And that is the context in which he meets Cresta.

What makes Cresta different from other pretty girls? It's her double life. Unlike Kylo, Sheev lives in a world in which the Sith expect to live in disguise permanently. That's very different from how Kylo lives. Kylo is who he is and he does that he wants without apology. Sheev doesn't have the freedom to operate that way. He has to respect social norms, at least ostensibly, and he's a politician who has to get reelected. Being a prequel era Sith requires a whole level of subterfuge and subtlety that Kylo never has to bother with and never really learns. So it's no surprise that Kylo is pretty inept at plotting outside of the military context-he's never had to deal with life in those terms. But that is how Sheev lives.

I wanted to show Sheev emulating his Master Snoke. Trying to be as smooth and sophisticated as the urbane Hego Damask. And I wanted to show Sheev seducing Cresta slowly, in the same plodding manner that later on he will slowly sway Anakin to the Dark Side. Because when Sheev Palpatine sees something he really wants, he's in no hurry. Similarly, he seems in less of a hurry to find Luke Skywalker in the classic trilogy than Vader is. That's Snoke's influence showing, but it also reflects the prequel Sith modus operandi of rarely being able to overtly take what you want. Most of the time, you wait for it to come to you.

You don't pledge Sith when you are someone who wants to play by the rules. So my Sheev has a rebellious streak. And Snoke's treatment of Cresta becomes the beginnings of a rift between between Master and Apprentice that will ferment for years to come. Because the ultimate rebellion against Snoke is trying to kill him.

Sheev is a romantic at heart, and I tried to show that here and there. I wanted to make him believable as the man who later on buys his lady a crown and all the jewels she could ever want. So from the beginning, we see him doing things like renting her an apartment and buying her a dress. There is an undercurrent of generosity to Sheev Palpatine where Cresta is concerned.

Snoke is the ultimate bad guy in my AU world of the Sith. And Snoke is the architect of many of his own problems. Snoke makes a mistake attempting to separate Cresta and Sheev that causes a rift that develops into a motive for murder. Yes, Palpatine wanted to supplant his Master anyway (and he had other motives relating to Snoke's Sith son), but Sheev has a special personal vendetta against Snoke. And Sheev, ever the good Apprentice, bides his time for years until he strikes. He has learned from the best how to play the long game. And, really, Snoke should have seen this coming, for when we see Sheev and Snoke again in _Fifth Wife_ , they barely tolerate one another.

I like to think that Snoke has learned from his mistake with Sheev by the time Kylo comes around. So when Rey shows up with little Han (and the Force), Snoke encourages the mésalliance relationship with Kylo. And through Milo he helps Rey gain the skills and polish she needs as Empress. It's what Snoke should have done with Cresta and years later he realizes it (for if there ever was an analytical Sith who would think hard about what went wrong while in exile, it's Snoke). I also believe that Snoke better comprehends the Sheev-Cresta relationship in the aftermath of Shan. When we meet Snoke in this story, he's never really been in love and his women are more a convenience for him than his soulmates. But once he is a bereft widower in exile years later, he finally understands what Sheev felt for Cresta and the lengths Sheev would go to for her.

So who is the real tragic figure of my AU world of the Sith? It's Vader. This has always been my view, and references to it are scattered throughout all my Sith stories. Poor Vader is the only Sith in my AU who loses and never regains his wife. Like his own son Luke, Vader is kept away from his family (Snoke) and raised a Jedi. And once Vader turns Sith, he has in Palpatine a jealous, wary Master who never fully trains him. In my mind, Vader lives a lonely life full of missed opportunity. He is a victim of his own choices and of the people he trusts who let him down-first the Jedi order, then his lying Sith Master Sidious, and of course his father in the Force Snoke who never intervenes to help Vader until it's too late.

The experience of Vader casts a huge shadow over Kylo. In _Fulcrum_ , Vader is the illustrious grandfather who Kylo wants to live up to. And whose misfortunes Kylo wants to avoid. In _Fulcrum Part Two_ , Snoke reveals more of Vader's true situation and now Vader becomes the cautionary tale of wasted potential. Vader only appears in the epilogue to _Red_ , but I felt it was important to include him to round out my AU. Vader is a minor, peripheral figure who appears as the errand boy/onlooker in my epilogue. And that's basically the role I envision Vader played in the Empire when he wasn't fulfilling his military duties.

This story explains the origins of Kylo Ren's tale to Rey in _Fulcrum_ of how the Jedi cult 'steals' children. It's a pejorative cast to the Jedi Order, to be sure. But as a mom, I can't imagine surrendering my three or four year-old forever to the Jedi Order. And the concept of a life with no attachments seems very bleak.

Sheeva Papatine isn't exactly stolen by the Jedi—Cresta freely gives her up. But it's less of a choice than would be typical, given that Cresta is a broke single mother who can't really raise her daughter on her own. And in the Jedi's defense, Sheeva Palpatine would likely not have been born but for the Jedi support of Cresta during her pregnancy. So, it's a complicated situation. But Sheev Palpatine finds a scapegoat in the Jedi.

Pilar, Snoke's fourth wife, appears incidentally in this fic. As Snoke tells Shan in _Fifth Wife_ :

My Pilar had grown up a slave. She was uneducated and unsophisticated. Unsuitable to be seen in public as my wife. But she was very kindhearted. Truly an exemplary character despite her largely wretched life.

Pilar is in this story mostly because I wanted her to illustrate why Snoke is so disapproving of Cresta. Snoke wants his Apprentice to marry a girl who is First Lady of Galaxy material, which Snoke himself hasn't done at that point. Snoke barely lets Pilar out in public and she is not acknowledged as his wife. And, ultimately, that's the role that Cresta will play as wife to Sheev the Emperor. As we find out in _Fifth Wife_ and in _Fulcrum Part Two_ , Cresta too will live in the shadows in a committed but unacknowledged relationship because she is deemed unsuitable.

Honestly, the idea of Snoke's slave wife captured my imagination. I didn't want to write a story about her, but I wanted to show her. When we first meet Pilar, she's decked out in all her finery and surrounded by bodyguards. A prized wife that Snoke wants to protect? Perhaps. But also a woman he carefully controls—especially in public. I wanted to show a woman who years later is still scarred and trapped by her slave past. The legacy of her lack of education (in case you missed the small subtle reference, Pilar can't read) stays with her long after she is freed and the effects of the slave experience on her psyche still remain. She is a prisoner in her luxury life, complete with the diamond slave collar she wears. And the really awful part of it all is not that Pilar seems to accept that collar, but that she seems to cling to it. Because this slave woman has never known anything else. Pilar knows that in Snoke's mind she will never get beyond her slave status, just like Cresta will never be able to overcome her background in Snoke's mind.

In general, I feel as though the issue of slavery is never fully fleshed out in the SW galaxy. And that's a missed opportunity, in my opinion. Slavery is just so horrible, so soul-killing and dehumanizing. I have to believe that Anakin's slave status had a lasting impact on him. Perhaps all that childhood loss of autonomy fed an innate desire for power years later in the mature Sith? Who knows. Anakin—like Pilar—is a "lucky" slave who is bought and freed. Anakin is bought by a Jedi—does that make him truly freed? He goes from obedience to one master to obedience to his Jedi Master. Snoke buys Pilar (on a whim, we learn in _Fifth Wife_ ) and "freeing" Pilar separates her from her beloved Hutt. She's a slave who gets to be wife to the richest man in the galaxy, so that's a success story, right? Not really.

Pilar's plight is in keeping with this story because _Red_ is mostly about how the poorer parts of the SW universe live. Cresta is a working girl who struggles to keep herself afloat. She, like many of us, barely makes ends meet and she's one small setback ahead of disaster. She and her friends and coworkers are a small network of people who help each other out here and there as they can, and this happens in real life too.

Social class is a very subtle thing, far subtler than people realize. And that's why it's so hard to transcend it. It's more than how much money you have, what you own and how you look. We reveal our class in our attitudes, our speech, our education, our interests and our experiences. The difference between the patrician Sheev Palpatine and the working girl Cresta Cole is considerable. And, I like to think that it speaks well of Sheev for being open minded enough to fall in love with Cresta.

Here and there, this story (and more so with _Fulcrum Part Two_ ) has references to the US presidential election. Those references aren't intended to endorse any particular point of view. I'm not a particularly political person and I don't live in a swing state, but it's pretty much impossible to avoid the US election coverage right now. And some buzzwords and catch-phrases from the election worked their way into my stories.

Thanks for reading. Sorry to be so longwinded. I just have an awful lot to say about SW.


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